Winchester Within: The Edge of Darkness
by triangular peg ticks all boxes
Summary: An attack during what was supposed to be their downtime threatens the Winchester family dynamics and the humanity of one of them. Will they be able to hold the darkness at bay? (Female OC Emily is still here! There's some language and some gore! You've been warned!)
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: The show Supernatural and it's characters belong to CW and Eric Kripke. But Emily is mine! And so is this story!**

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_Gray had to admit the tiny town of Eros was not as dead he'd originally thought. While it was no Las Vegas, there was still some fun to be had if he dramatically lowered his expectations. A couple of women, neglected by their husbands and attracted to his bad boy vibe, practically threw themselves at him whenever they saw him, drinks at the two bars in the town were cheap, and the alcohol fuelled fights that inevitably arose quelled his demonic rage enough to keep him from tearing anyone's head off and drawing attention to his meat puppet and attracting his employer's ire. It was an unexciting existence, but boring was worlds better than hell any day. At least here, no one was flaying him with a flame chain whip or ripping his lungs out. Still, he wished his only lead in finding the Emily girl wasn't waiting on an old biddy's phone to ring._

_When the phone in question rang and the caller turned out to be the elusive Emily Avis Raines, Gray couldn't have been more vindicated. That the call turned out to be more informative than he'd hoped, was the icing on the cake._

_He'd learnt from the call that Emily had brothers; Dean and Sam. Unfortunately, he'd not gotten their last name;he supposed it was not Avis or Raines. Not having that information was not ideal but at least he now knew more than he had before. He knew she had family helping her, and doing quite a good job of it, though he didn't know whether it was by design or dumb luck. He wondered how Emily had found them or maybe they had found her; either way their existence was annoying and probably dangerous for him._

_The reason she had called Cece was because the one called Dean had been electrocuted and had suffered a heart attack and doctors had predicted his life expectancy to be weeks. The girl and the other brother were desperate to save him. Cece had promised to call back after making enquiries. And make inquiries she had. Gray had been surprised; for a recluse who rarely received any phone calls, the woman sure had many contacts she could hit up._

_She had ultimately told Emily about a guy called Roy LeGrange who was some sort of miracle healer in Chambers, Nebraska. Gray didn't know how far away from the place Emily and her brothers were so he couldn't take the chance of driving there. He'd have to get there in his smoke form and find a suitable meat puppet on arrival. However, there was the question of what to do with his current meat suit in the meantime. Nathan Wood was a fighter, and the minute he gained control of his body, he'd make a run for it, and Gray's boss wouldn't like that. So he grabbed his heavy duty chains, and power walked himself and his meat puppet to a partially collapsed old well he'd accidentally stumbled upon on the edge of the town. He carefully picked his way as far inside as he could. He chained himself up, levitated the keys out of reach, then had Nathan Wood knock himself out by hitting his head extremely hard against the wall. The hit drew blood and for a moment Gray worried the man might bleed out and die if he left him. But the blood flow stopped quickly. Gray was sure he'd be back soon enough so he was not worried about Nathan starving or dying of thirst._

_When he was sure he'd thought of everything, Gray left Nathan Wood's body in a gleeful burst of black smoke. He was basically powerless in this form, but he liked it. In this form he couldn't be killed, well, he could, but only by a very powerful demon and there weren't many of those topside. He mostly liked this form because he was free, limitless and could will himself almost anywhere. Unfortunately, as it turned out, he couldn't will himself into Roy LeGrange's church. Gray had learnt early on that churches where the faithful actually had faith were impossible to breach, and evidently, the people who attended Roy's church were true believers. So Gray ended up on the outskirts of the town. He ended up possessing Kevin Hawkins, a tiny rotund man with a large polished forehead, a beaming smile that hid a deep unacknowledged sadness, and half moon glasses that reminded Gray of a librarian from the Dickensian era. No one could look at Kevin and imagine him a threat. Unfortunately, the man also had a car older than the trojan horse. It even needed pushing at one point. Gray had never been more upset about a piece of machinery as he was about that car._

_Even possessing someone, Gray couldn't get in through the church door or more accurately the church flap. So he sat in his newly acquired excuse of a car and watched the arrivals and the determined lone protestor who everyone was ignoring. He was beginning to reconsider his decision to come here when the low rumble of a car caught his ear and made him look up. A black muscle car came up the muddy trail and parked a ways off from his. It was an impressive machine, and he hadn't seen a vehicle like it in this awful place and he was curious to see who stepped out. The left door opened quickly and a tall young man stepped out and raced round to the right side whose door opened slowly to reveal another young man. This one too was tall, though not as tall as the other one, and he looked a little under the weather. He rudely shrugged away the other's help and the two shuffled off. Then movement in the back of the black car caught Gray's eye. The door opened and a girl with a look between annoyance and disgust emerged from the car._

_Even though he had come here hoping to find her, he couldn't believe it when he saw the girl. His quarry. She looked a little different in person. In the picture he'd stolen, her hair was dead straight and had purple streaks, and as the picture was a close up of four kids, he hadn't been able to gauge how tall she was. Well, she was tall, almost 5'9 if he had to hazard a guess, her hair was hanging in a braid behind her back, and from the wayward strands that had escaped, he could tell it was curly and not straight, the purple streaks were gone, and her face had lost the baby fat that had still been evident in the photo. She was a beautiful girl. Gray felt an unsettling twinge of an emotion he couldn't describe. He knew it wasn't lust. That was an emotion all demons were intimate with; this one, whatever it was, was new to him._

_He knew he couldn't grab her, there were too many faithful and hence powerful and dangerous witnesses around, and his car was not exactly getaway car material. Besides, he wasn't supposed to kill the girl himself. He just had to get a reaver to do that. He knew he had to bide his time, choose a better moment than this. He wasn't worried about the men, who he was sure were the brothers she'd mentioned to her grandmother. They looked like they could handle themselves, yes, even the sick one who Gray now knew was Dean. Still, Gray was a demon, and even though he was a lower tier demon, and was currently possessing the least imposing meat puppet that had ever lived, he was still more powerful than any human. He dropped his hand from the car door handle, and sat back to wait._

_About forty minutes later, the three siblings burst out of the tent with the previously ill one looking impossibly robust and inexplicably irate. Before Gray could turn the key of his car, the black muscle car had roared away. Gray had no choice but to leave his meat-suit and follow the vehicle in his bodiless form. He was disconcerted when he couldn't breach the car, meaning it was somehow demon-proofed. That was when he started to see his quarry as possibly dangerous._

_He was surprised when they drove to a hospital. He hurriedly possessed an aide in a bid to get information. He'd only just managed to get his meat puppet in position to eavesdrop when the siblings stormed out. Gray was annoyed when he had to abandon another meat suit in order to follow them. They drove to the swimming club and at the entrance, the taller man, Sam and Emily got out of the car which peeled off without them. Gray hoped he could get to the girl in this location._

_He didn't. The minute he heard about time stopping, he knew there was a reaper in the town. He booked it out of the meat puppet he was possessing and out of the club. Hell no! No way was he, a lower level demon, facing a reaper because of this Emily girl. While reapers were technically just soul escorts, their touch was capable of killing just about anything. Gray wasn't so sure whether they could kill a demon, but he was not going to volunteer as a test subject. He'd find another way to get Emily. She had promised she'd visit her grandmother. He'd get her then._

_He willed himself back to the well in Eros, to find Nathan Wood awake and diligently hitting the chain at his feet with a rock trying to break it. Gray was impressed. The man really was resourceful and determined. He also tried to resist the repossession, but was unsuccessful. Gray smiled with Nathan's lips. Yes, he liked this meat puppet so much better._


	2. Chapter 1

The friendly bickering had started almost as soon as they hit the road. Dean probably in a bid to keep himself and his siblings awake had crowed, "Damn, that was intense. If it hadn't been for me holding onto that stupid rope, the two of you would have been corned beef!"

Even though they agreed with him, Emily had immediately scoffed and Sam had added, "Please, if Mr. Bad Attitude hadn't held on with you, that thing was going to carry you off and make you its bitch! Besides, lassoing is so much harder than shooting."

"Well, neither one of you had to deal with the guy with less courage than Scooby Doo!" Emily snorted.

"At least you got an appreciative hug out of it!" Dean teased.

"Oh, did you want one too?" she retorted.

And so it went. The three Winchesters were looking for a motel to crash after their latest hunt.

Three days earlier, they'd actually been about two hours or so from Bobby's when he'd called and asked them to check out Glendo State Park in Wyoming where folk were being picked off by some kind of giant freak bird. Bobby himself was running an errand in Wisconsin, which he was ready to drop if they said no. However, despite the two back to back soul-sucking hunts the three had been on, their consciences couldn't allow them to say no, and truth be told, they'd been excited by this new hunt. They had spent much of the eight hour drive to the park speculating what the creature could be. There had been talk of dragons, ahools, gryffins, aliens and ulamas. Then the talk had shifted when Emily had expressed excitement at going camping. Her brothers had looked at her like she'd sprouted horns. They'd told her in unequivocal terms how much they hated camping. All her talk about Aboriginal activity and cultural artifacts from the Arapaho, Cheyenne, Oglala and Brule Sioux tribes, had failed to move either brother. Even Sam hadn't been impressed. Their apathy hadn't quelled Emily's excitement.

The Burnt Wagon, Broken Arrow and Muddy Bay wood camp grounds were closed. The official reason was wildfires but having seen no fire, or smoke, the Winchesters knew the wildfire report was just a way to keep the public away as those in charge tried to figure out what to do. They'd sent in an ornithologist and five park rangers. Surprisingly, only the scientist, the only female and unarmed member of the team had returned. She had been committed almost immediately as she'd told anyone who would listen about a devil bird that had eaten the rangers, saying she'd survived because she'd stayed in the car. Sam and Dean, remembering the Wendigo hunt and Roy, had expressed a hope that no more rangers would get sent to the park. The last thing they needed on the hunt was a bunch of cocksure, sceptic, gun wielding rangers making things hard.

When Sam had parked the car, Emily had bounded out the back like a puppy that had been set free after being cooped up for days. "It's so beautiful!" she had breathed turning around in a circle, her eyes wide in awe.

Sam and Dean, had smiled at her exuberance. "Could you be a bigger tree-hugger!" Dean had laughed, then he clapped eagerly, "Okay, let's get this thing!"

Having no camping gear, they scouted during the day. At night, in the safety of the impala, they researched and attempted to sleep while trying to ignore the loud thunks on the roof of the car as the creature they were hunting tried to get in through the roof. They all pretended their hearts didn't beat wildly every time that happened; Dean mostly hated what was happening to his 'baby' while Sam and Emily worried the creature would finally figure out how easily the car's windows would shatter under the assault of its claws. Fortunately, it didn't seem quite developed in the intelligence department which was one of the reasons, two nights and a day later, all three Winchesters agreed that they were hunting a wyvern. They'd then spent an extra day strategising how exactly to take down the creature. The plan they settled on was crazy, and not for the first time, the boys were glad they were now a trio, because it would have been hard, though not impossible, for just the two of them to carry it out. They'd decided to put it in action later that night but unfortunately, that afternoon, Emily raced back to her brothers from her look out point and reported an approaching car.

Dean signaled her up the nearest tree.

"I should never have told you guys about that jungle gym story!" she grumbled as she disappeared up the trunk and over branches. Sam and Dean chuckled at her grumbles as they waited for the vehicle to reach them. Dean leaned against the impala, his casual relaxed pose completely deceptive while Sam pretending to read a book, sat in the back seat leaving the door open and his legs outside, feet planted firmly on the ground.

Even before the car came to rest, the backdoor had opened and slammed shut and a huge irate man was stalking towards Sam and Dean yelling, "What are you kids doing here? You can't be here?"

Dean straightened and Sam tossed the book, slammed the door shut and stood up beside his brother. "We're sorry we didn't pay for a camping permit, we'll pay the fine, just don't arrest us, please!" he banked on his puppy eyes and the fact that the man had called them kids. The latter probably being the reason Dean had bristled in anger.

"Trespassing is the least of your worries sonny! Now get out of here and we won't penalise you!" the second man spoke coolly almost sardonically as he walked up to them. He was not as big as the first man but still impressively built.

The men looked like they were in their early to mid forties, very fit forties. Both men were close shaven, armed, confident looking and pissed as hell. It was obvious they had not counted on finding a couple of dumb kids in these parts. There was a third man, the driver. He was much younger than the two, who Dean had already identified as ex-Military, probably Marines or Seals. He had stayed in the car and he looked terrified. Smart man.

The second man's tone didn't sit well with Sam who had always had a problem responding to authoritarian people. "If you make us leave, we'll tell everyone there's no fire, and we'll see how you like it when more people start coming up here!" he smirked deciding to test the waters by being obnoxious.

The man grabbed Sam by the collar and pulled him down level with his face, "Listen to me punk, you and leather jacket Ken over there have no idea what is going on!"

Completely unintimidated, he was a Winchester after all, Sam blinked owlishly as he marvelled at the fact that the man was only about Emily's height. His attitude had made him seem taller. The other man however, undoubtedly topped Sam's height by an inch, even two. Both men were built like linebackers.

"Let go of him!" Dean growled dangerously.

"Let him go Vince!" the first man spoke with a tired sigh. "He's just a kid." The man, Vince, shoved Sam slightly as he let go and Sam's back hit the impala and he scowled.

Dean stepped up to Vince. "You touch him again, I'll rip your arm off and beat you to death with it!"

Vince laughed, "That's so cute! What movie was that from?"

Sam had to hold a restraining hand to Dean's elbow to keep him from launching at the man.

The first man spoke, trying to explain and diffuse the situation. "You two need to leave. It's not safe for you to be here."

"Trust me, we know how to handle ourselves and we actually know what is going on. Can't say the same for you!" Dean spat, looking at Vince with hate.

"You have no idea …" the man began.

Dean had had enough. "Look, we know there's a creature here. We know it snacked on a couple of campers, and that got this place locked down. They sent in five rangers at the end of their luck and some bird scientist, and the rangers got eaten too. The bird scientist survived because she had a brain in her head. So, it's you guys who have no idea what is going on. We know what this thing is, and how to kill it. You let us do our job and we'll be out of here first thing tomorrow morning! You can even take credit for the kill if you want!" he snapped.

Vince was angry. How dare this leather jacket wearing cowboy wannabe imply that he could accomplish what he a Marine couldn't. And to say they could take the credit. He didn't know which was the bigger insult. He made a step towards Dean. His colleague held him back with a hand to his chest and spoke to Dean. "You know what? You're not our mission. Just make sure you stay out of our way!"

"Yeah well, stay out of ours too." Dean retorted. "Come on Rae!"

Dean and Sam enjoyed the looks on the men's faces when Emily climbed down the tree. That they'd not been alerted to the presence of another person, was very disconcerting for them and for that person to be another kid, a girl for that matter, was a blow to their egos. Emily rubbed it in by grinning toothily at them.

Despite being put off by her disrespectful display, the first man was chivalrous enough to be concerned about Emily. "Sweetheart, you might want to come with us," he offered.

"No, but thanks. I'll take my chances over here!" she said sweetly as she joined her brothers.

"Suit yourself!" Vince all but growled as the two walked back to their car.

"Great! This is just fucking fantastic! Now we have to add keeping those idiots safe to our plan!" Dean grumbled. "We can't just add three unknown variables to the plan. We don't know exactly how any of those guys will react when that thing shows up." He scrubbed a hand over his head. "We can't completely change our strategy, it's almost 6 p.m!"

"How about we forget the positions we'd decided to take up, we each mark one guy, but keep the last part of the plan intact?" Sam suggested.

Dean frowned as he considered the idea. "Fine, we each mark a guy, but only within the agreed radius. If your man goes beyond the perimeter, I don't care, he's no longer your problem. Understood?" he glared at his siblings to impress how serious he was.

Both Sam and Emily scowled, but agreed with him. Their plan hinged on them shooting the wyvern within seconds of each other, so if one of them run off, the plan would obviously unravel. They started their preparations.

Emily occasionally glanced at the other team, noting their movements and reporting what was going on. The guy behind the wheel was obviously a civilian. He clearly didn't want to be here, he did not leave the vehicle, barely even cracked his window open, and was nervous about all the carryings on. The other two didn't talk to him, barely even acknowledged him. The huge sandy haired one was definitely the leader, but it was evident the men were friends. "Whoa! I can't tell from over here what models those are, but those weapons look scary impressive … mmm, some kind of assault rifles with night vision optic scopes!"

"Can't wait to see their faces when they catch sight of the wyvern through those scopes!" Dean said with maniacal glee. Sam smiled. He could easily imagine how seeing such a creature with such an instrument for the first time could be piss-your-pants terrifying. He and his siblings didn't need fancy scopes, the light of the gibbous moon was more than enough, and even if it hadn't been, they'd have used their flashlights.

"They're painting their faces!" Emily reported with a snicker.

"Well, maybe the wyvern will make out with them instead of eating them!" Dean snorted pretending the paint Emily was talking about was makeup. The three of them fell about laughing.

With their weapons prepped Dean handed out the assignments. "I've got Vince, Sam you're with Thor, and Rae, you watch out for Courage who doesn't look like he'll be getting in the thick of things but stranger things have happened."

Sam and Emily laughed heartily at the names Dean had given the unknown members of the other team, then they each moved off.

Emily rapped on the window of the other car. The man jumped then smiled when he saw who it was. Taking the smile for an invitation, Emily opened the door and stepped into the car. "Hi, I'm Rae!"

"I'm Farrell, hi," he replied. Emily guessed he was closer to Sam's age than hers. They shook hands.

There was a short awkward silence, then Emily spoke. "So, you drew the short straw, uh?"

"Something like that," he said in a grumbly voice, glaring out of the window in the direction he'd seen his passengers disappear to. Then he turned to her, a look of urgency on his face, 'those two may be assholes, well, Vince is, but they know what they're doing. You should have listened to them and left!"

"Don't worry about us, my brothers and I can look after ourselves!"

"You and your brothers are just a bunch of bored kids who've stumbled into a horror movie!"

"A horror movie? So you believe the scientist's story?" Emily was surprised.

"Yes, I believe her. My mother isn't crazy, and when those two get that thing, I'm taking it back as proof!"

Of course there wouldn't be anything left to exhibit if she and her brothers achieved their goal, but Emily didn't tell him; when it came to family, many people were unpredictable. She didn't want him sabotaging their plan to save his mother's reputation.

She got her phone and typed one word to her brothers. 'Believer.'

Dean sat against a tree next to Vince.

"A crossbow?" Vince laughed when Dean sat down next to him.

"Yes, and a shot gun with rock salt!" Dean growled.

Vince snickered condescendingly. "Wait, so you and your little band of misfits think you're hunting a vampire?"

"No. We're hunting a wyvern, and those two are my siblings!"

"Younger, right?" Vince asked ignoring the part of the sentence that made no sense to him.

"Yeah."

"Then I suggest you go babysit them, and leave me alone."

"They're fine, and you can just pretend I'm not here." Dean leaned his head back and closed his eyes.

"You know what? You and your siblings really are most cocky little bastards I've ever met!" Vince broke the silence suddenly. Dean smiled because despite the words, the man spoke with grudging admiration.

"And you're a cocky douche!" Dean replied.

"I try!"

"So you and Thor are ex-what exactly?" it had been bugging him since he'd seen the men.

"Thor?" Vince laughed.

"The other guy. Didn't catch his name." Dean shrugged.

"So you called him Thor?"

"He's huge and blond! And his hands look like hammers!"

Vince's laugh cracked the silence.

Dean texted two words to his siblings. 'Doesn't care'

"Well, they seem to be getting along now!" the man who'd introduced himself to Sam as Pike commented mildly.

"Dean has a way with certain types of people." Sam smiled.

"I bet he does! Vince is kind of the same way too!"

"I noticed!"

Silence took over for a while. "So you, Dean and …"

"Rae." Sam supplied

"Rae, right! What are you? Like thrill seekers or something?"

"Something."

Pike frowned at the cagey answer. "You know, I watched you guys prep. I saw how you all handled those guns. You're not a bunch of amateurs, that's for sure."

"Is there a question in there somewhere?"

Pike's lip lifted in a slight smile. "Bet you give Dean a run for his money in the mouthy department when you feel up to it! Yes, there's a question in there somewhere. I also noticed your ammunition was not exactly standard issue. What is that about?"

Sam debated about how much to tell the man, then decided to give it to him with both barrels. "Well, the thing we're hunting is called a wyvern. It's a supernatural monster. The shotgun Dean's got has rock salt, my gun has got silver bullets and Rae is packing consecrated iron rounds. The salt should weaken and immobilise the wyvern, so that the iron can incapacitate it, and the silver should kill it. If all that doesn't work, we'll decapitate it and then set the body on fire!"

There was a heavy shocked silence and Sam wondered what Pike was thinking.

"So you guys are like demon hunters or something?" Pike finally spoke.

Sam heard the incredulous laughter in the man's voice, but still answered. "Just hunters. We hunt all sorts of things, not just demons. It's kind of the family business."

"Well, good on you!" Pike spoke in a condescending voice. Then after about a minute of silence, he added with a shake of his head, "You three didn't strike me as crazy, but I guess crazy comes in different flavours!"

Sam glared and turned away from the man. He texted his siblings. 'Jerkass sceptic.'

All three mismatched pairs went silent and waited. Until ten p.m.

Because of their scopes, Pike and Vince were actually the first to see the wyvern. "What the hell is that thing?" they both shrieked, in high pitched voices that Dean would have a great time mimicking and laughing at later, as the wyvern flew overhead. The two men still had the presence of mind to shoot at the creature; Pike quickly realised his ammunition was useless and ceased the shooting. Vince on the other hand wouldn't stop and when the wyvern landed on the car with a loud thunk and skittering nails, he set his sights on it. Dean growled at him, "In case you've not noticed, your bullets are completely useless, and there are two people in that car, one of whom is my baby sister, so if you shoot even one bullet at that car, so help me God, I'll feed you to that thing myself!"

Vince lowered his gun.

It was just as well he hadn't made the shot, because the sound of the landing wyvern had terrified Farrell brainless. No way was he staying in the car when whatever was out there was trying to get in. He believed he stood a better chance with the big guys with the big guns, not in a car with a girl with just a handgun. Without really thinking through the decision, he opened the door and ran out.

"Shit!" Emily wrenched her own door open and raced after him. She heard the teeth numbing clink as the wyvern's nails scratched the car's roof in lift off.

"Bloody idiot!" Dean swore as he stood and aimed his crossbow. He wasn't sure whether he was swearing at Emily or the blasted sniveling idiot she was chasing or even Vince. He let the arrow fly.

Emily dived at Farrell just as the wyvern swooped. Because it had been aiming for a standing target, that had suddenly dropped, the wyvern did not get proper purchase to lift Emily, but it's talons clawed her back. She cried out as she fell.

"Rae!" Both her brothers roared.

The arrow from Dean's crossbow whistled through the air, and even though it was weighed down by the rope that was tied to it's end, it found it's mark, piercing through the wyvern's right wing. Dean scrambled to grab onto the rope that was hurtling away, before it completely disappeared. Vince who had been watching, tossed his rifle to the side and grabbed onto the rope as well.

"This is completely insane!" he screamed to be heard over the creature's screeches. He couldn't believe he was tagging on an improvised harpoon at whose other end was a creature he'd never seen, wished he'd never seen and hoped he'd never see again.

"Sam?" Dean's voice was strained.

"I'm trying! The bloody thing just won't stay in place!" Sam was trying to lasso the wyvern's tail. As they'd been strategising during the day, they'd realised that if the creature pulled hard enough and for long enough, it could effectively tear the arrow out of it's body and free itself. Then they'd have a pissed off, injured beast. Then Sam had suggested the lasso. It was proving to be an impossible task though, as the wyvern swung it's tail in a frenzy. Sam decided to get in closer.

"Rae?" Dean called again, concern for his sister tainting his voice even as the tag of war he had going on with the wyvern was giving him a serious case of rope burn.

"I'm okay!" Emily intended it as a bellow, but it came out as a winded pant that she didn't think either brother heard. Well, they'd know she was fine when she started moving. "Follow me, and for fuck's sake, stay low!" she growled the command at Farrell who realised he had really underestimated her. Since every animal's natural instinct is to tag away, chances of the wyvern swooping down to attack her and Farrell were low, but Emily was not taking any chances. She crawled on her belly until she was out of harm's way. "Stay there!" she ordered as she rose into a crouch and slunk away quietly. Farrell didn't need telling twice.

The wyvern's tail caught Sam in the chest and sent him sprawling a few metres away. "Fuck!" he swore involuntarily.

"You okay?" Dean's came out in a puff.

"Just peachy!" Sam grumbled as he slowly picked himself off the ground. This time he saw the tail coming and he ducked in time. Anticipating the next swing, he had the lasso on and it tightened as the wyvern inevitably swung its tail in a bid to free itself. "Got it!" he shouted in triumph. Unlike Dean, he didn't have to hold on because his rope had already been looped round a thick tree trunk.

"I can't believe it worked!" Dean panted as he, Emily, Pike and Vince run up to Sam. The three siblings grinned at each other.

"So that's a wyvern! I'll be damned." Pike walked up and looked at the creature that was still screeching horribly. He drew back quickly.

"You three are the craziest, cockiest BAMFs I've ever met!" Vince said in awe. Then he turned to Pike. "Good to see you made it out alive Thor!"

"Thor?" Pike questioned.

The rest all laughed, but no one explained.

"Okay, let's finish this so we can leave. I'm beat!" Dean said with a sigh raising the shotgun.

Sam and Emily drew their guns.

"What are you doing? We have to take it alive!" Farrell came tearing up to them.

"What are you nuts?" Sam snorted wearily.

"I need it as evidence!" the man all but wailed.

Dean rolled his eyes. Academicians never ceased to amaze him. "You want to keep this thing as evidence? Just because we've got it trussed up, you think it's harmless? Do you realise that the only reason those ropes are holding that thing is because we soaked them with holy water?"

Farrell, Pike and Vince's mouths fell open.

"Screw evidence!" Dean turned back to his siblings, "Okay guys!"

The three Winchesters raised their guns and shot nearly simultaneously; the bullets hit the creature seconds apart, and in the intended order, rock salt, consecrated iron and finally silver.

The wyvern burst into flames, it's dying shrieks horrific.

"That's some freaky shit!" Vince swore as he moved back. Pike agreed with a nod of his head.

"That. Was. Awesoooome!" Dean slapped Emily on the back. Her yelp of pain and the sudden stickiness on his hand alerted him to the injury she had. He hadn't noticed the blood because it was dark and she was wearing her black sweatshirt. "Rae, you're hurt! Why didn't you say anything?" he frowned.

"We were all kinda busy and there was … is nothing you could do out here," Emily explained. Then, not wanting to be under the bus alone, she added, "Besides, Sam is hurt too!"

"Sam?" Dean turned to his brother and his eyes narrowed as he reached over to raise Sam's shirt.

Sam swatted away Dean's hand and pulled down his shirt. "Geez, at least buy me dinner first!"

Emily snickered and Vince and Pike who'd been kicking and scattering the wyvern's ashes chortled appreciatively.

"Fine, but if you two start growing scales, or horns, or some other freaky shit, I'm going to be pissed! And I will kick your asses!" Dean groused. The last two hunts had proved beyond reasonable doubt that his siblings could look after themselves, and even him. Those hunts had shifted the relationship between the three of them; it was no longer the 'one sided him as the protector and them as the protected' relationship that it had been before. He no longer considered Sam and even Emily as sidekicks or backups; they were now partners, but they would always be his younger siblings and he would always feel responsible for them.

Sam heard the concern in his brother's flippant words. "Hey, I'm not going to die from this, and horns would probably suit Rae more than you think!" he placated as he located the crossbow.

"Hey!" Emily protested as she retrieved the ropes. She stuck out her tongue at Sam who grinned. "Besides, we used all the holy water anyway." she pointed out to Dean.

"Well, you'd better not get blood in my car!" Dean growled as he opened the impala's trunk for his siblings to dump the equipment.

Pike, Vince and Farrell walked up to the car. "So what do we tell everyone?" Pike asked.

"I don't know, think of something. Mutated overgrown hawk, giant eagle with rabies? It's up to you!" Dean was now only concerned with getting his siblings out of here, back to civilisation and patched up.

"I love this kid!" Vince laughed in appreciation.

"I'm not a kid!" Dean bristled.

Sam smiled at how much Dean sounded like a kid in his indignation. He knew better than to point this out though; after all, Dean was his ride out of this place.

Emily spoke to Farrell. "Sorry we had to destroy it. Tell your mother, she's not crazy, the creature was a wyvern, and it's dead. That should give her validation and peace of mind. And erm … if you can convince her to stop talking about it, maybe she will be released." she shrugged with regret.

"You three guys saved our lives. That's what matters. Thanks." Farrell decided bitterness was a waste of his time.

They shook hands and said their goodbyes. Sam and Dean immediately got into it, about who should drive. As they argued, Farrell used the moment to hug Emily, "I'd ask for your number, but after seeing you and your brothers' mad gun skills, I wouldn't dare." He released her.

"It wouldn't work anyway, I'm a nomad!" Emily grinned, then she leaned in, gave him a peck on his cheek, and hopped into the car making sure her shoulder didn't hit the seats.

Sam won the argument with, "Don't think I don't know about that rope burn on your hands!" Dean sighed and handed over the keys. The brothers piled in on either side of Emily.

They drove in silence until they hit the proper road. Then bickering and teasing had started.

Forty minutes later, they stopped at the fifth motel they saw. An hour after they'd checked in, they were showered, patched up and ready for sleep. "So, Rae, still think camping is awesome?" Sam asked as he turned off the light.

"That wasn't camping! We slept in the car and did research, all the while being terrorised by a demon bird!" Emily objected. "Proper camping is actually fun."

"Camping, hiking, backpacking, it all sucks!" Dean interjected. "Even when there are no supernatural monsters trying to kill you, or normal gigantic animals like bears trying to eat you and your food, there's annoying things like mosquitoes and splinters and the food is terrible! You can't have burgers or pie!"

"Man, for such a bad ass hunter, you're so indulged!" Emily laughed softly in the darkness.

"You know what? I'm with him on this one! That wiping with leaves business is not fun!" Sam disagreed with Emily, making her laugh harder.

Finally silence settled in the room.

Then a sound at the door startled them from their dozes. Dean signalled his siblings into position.

By the time the man breached the door, three guns were pointed at him.

"Hello boys, Emily!"

"Dad?" Sam and Dean exclaimed.

"Christo!" Emily spoke in near synchronization with her brothers. The conditioning was still in effect.

Dean flicked on the lamp on the nightstand and stared at his father. "What are you doing here?" it was asked without any heat because even as he spoke, Dean was crossing the room to hug his father.

"An acquaintance sent me this way, but it looks like the situation has been handled."

Dean stepped aside and Sam took his place without saying a word.

"Good to see you Sammy."

"You too dad." Sam said in a chocked voice. It was a few seconds before he released his father.

"Hey kid!" John engulfed a beaming Emily.

"Hi John."


	3. Chapter 2

When John released Emily, she moved back and stood by her brothers, all three at attention like soldiers at an inspection parade. John marvelled at the fact that even though they did not look alike, there were enough similarities if one looked, that pointed to their common ancestry. That pointed to him. These were his children! He felt a swell of pride at that thought. He could also see they were all tired. It was in the slump of Sam's shoulders and the red rims of Emily's eyes, and the yawn Dean was fighting.

"You guys look beat, I'll see you in the morning," he said. Immediately Dean began to say he wasn't that tired. John was not surprised by Dean's quick negation. His son had a nearly pathological devotion to his family, often times sacrificing his own happiness and comfort for them. "It's okay Dean, I need to turn in myself." John cut in. He wasn't just saying that. It was true he was bushed, but he hadn't been able to wait for morning to check on his children. Of course he did not verbally share his rare sentimentality, but his eyes quickly roamed over Dean's bandaged hands, the dressing on Emily's shoulder and that peeking under Sam's too small tee. John's heart constricted. He hated seeing his children hurt. But at least they were alive; he could take comfort in that. "Good night, guys."

"Night dad! Night John!" they answered.

The door closed behind him. They each crawled back into their beds. It was a while before the silence was broken.

"What do you suppose he wants?" Sam asked. While he believed their father had indeed been sent by an acquaintance to hunt the wyvern, he knew the man could just as easily have slipped away without dropping in on them when he discovered they had already taken care of the creature.

"I don't know!" Dean sighed. Their father was an enigma he'd given up trying to decipher. He just hoped John didn't need them for a hunt. While any other day Dean would have jumped at the chance to hunt with his father, he was dreading it this time. He was beat, and he knew his siblings were too. All three of them were remarkably resilient, a trait they'd inherited in spades from John, but truth be told, they were at the end of their endurance. After the hunts they'd been on, two of which had brought his siblings to the very ends of their emotional ropes as they raced to save him, they all needed a break. They were banged up physically and emotionally and they needed the scheduled downtime at Bobby's to regroup. But if John asked them on a hunt, Dean knew they wouldn't refuse.

"Maybe he just wanted to see us!" Emily whispered from her bed. Having not been raised by John, the only illusions and disillusions she had about him were those picked up second hand from her brothers. But he was still her father, and she desperately wanted to believe in him, not just as a great hunter, but as a parent too.

"I called him when Dean was dying. He didn't even call back. Somehow I doubt he's here because he missed us!" Sam said bitterly.

Emily gasped, not only at the bitterness of Sam's voice, but also at the truth of his statement. John hadn't called back. Even her grandmother who hadn't exactly welcomed Emily with open arms at their first meeting, had called back that time.

When it came to their father, Dean rarely shared his brother's view of the man, because he understood John in a way Sam didn't. But tonight, Dean didn't defend John. He would never admit it, but John's abrupt leaving and subsequent silence had taken something from their relationship. And even though Dean had tried and probably succeeded in convincing Sam and Emily that John had left for a good reason, he himself had lost his blind trust in the man.

Sam held his breath and waited for Dean to leap to John's defence. Nothing. Dean's silence was telling. His heartbreak palpable. Of the two of them, he was the one who had been most burnt by John's absence. Sam felt sorry for his brother.

With heavy hearts, the siblings finally fell asleep.

* * *

"So who's doing the breakfast run?" John walked into the room the next morning. He was glad to see all three were up and dressed, and even gladder to see their guns trained on him.

"I think you want one of us to shoot you one day!" Sam grumbled as they all put away their guns.

"Good morning to you too, Sammy!" John smiled.

"It's Sam!" was the growled reply.

"He's right though, dad. Knocking isn't likely to kill you. Surprising hunters might." Dean interrupted before Sam laid into his father for his absence or other perceived transgressions.

"I was just checking your instincts!" John grinned. He was feeling chipper this morning. It probably had to do with seeing his children again after so long.

"Tha …" Sam began.

"Can I take your truck?" Emily piped up interrupting Sam and temporarily diffusing the brewing fight.

"What?" all the three men turned to face her.

"For the breakfast run, I mean."

"No, I'll go." Dean declared.

"Come on Dean!" she complained.

"Rae, you …" Dean trailed off as he remembered Sam's words in Greenville. Emily was more than capable of going to a diner on her own. "can take my car!" he finished gamely. Both Sam and Emily smiled.

"Thanks!" she said then she turned to John. "Can I? Please?" She even added an uncustomary begging whine to her words. She really wanted to drive that truck. She had secretly named it Nimbus. Of course she'd never tell anyone that. They'd all think her lame.

"Okay." John said. Emily heard the slow reluctance in the acquiesce, but she didn't care. He'd said yes. That's what mattered. She was going to drive Nimbus!

"Awesome!" she crowed and raced to the weapons bag.

"You should go easy on the gas!" John warned.

"No chance!" she thought. "I will!" she promised with her fingers firmly crossed.

Dean smiled, having heard the lie in her excited voice. She was obviously going to test that truck, probably burn rubber. Their father had no idea how crazy she could be.

Forgetting to complain and nag Dean about picking his things off the floor, Emily weaved her way around the mess to where John had perched himself. "Keys?" she held out her hand, practically hopping from foot to foot.

"Hope you've got your gun." John said mildly.

"Yep!" she chirped.

"And your knife?"

Emily stiffened slightly. "Got two actually!"

Sam and Dean exchanged a knowing look, eyes glowing with mischief. Dean held up five fingers, Sam held up four. They were silently betting after how many reminders Emily would snap.

"And a bottle of holy water."

She stiffened again. "Check."

"And salt!"

Finally, she had had enough. "Hey, I'm not a moron, you know!" she snapped.

Sam and Dean tried unsuccessfully to hold in their laughter. Sam's exploded in a noisy splutter of sound, while Dean guffawed and tried to turn it into a cough. John turned away from a scowling Emily to glower at his sons who were trying desperately to hide their amusement. His disfavour made them laugh even more. Knowing that telling them off would lose him even more points and make them crack up more, he turned back to Emily, whose lips had started twitching as she watched her brothers laugh, and handed her the keys.

"It's a big car, so be careful!" he said, resisting the urge to say more.

"I'm a big girl, John!" Emily said flippantly, then as she flounced out of the room she added, "Unlike Beavis and Butt-Head over there!"

"Hey!" the brothers protested, but Emily was gone and John was now chuckling appreciatively.

"So what is it like hunting with a girl?" he asked with a smile. Emily really was something.

"Don't you mean two girls, dad?" Dean quipped. Sam punched him.

"It's ummm …" Sam began.

"Different!" both him and Dean said simultaneously.

"Want me to take her off your hands, then?" John joked.

The smiles immediately fell off the boys' faces. "What? No way!" they both exclaimed in horror.

"Why not?" John's smile slipped a little.

The brothers' eyes flickered to each other for a split moment then turned back to John. Neither answered. They didn't know how to say what they wanted to say. Sam and Dean loved and respected their father, but truth be told, the man was a lukewarm father, and they simply couldn't picture their expressive, tactile sister on the road with him for months on end. John was not exactly known for his expressiveness, and Emily would shrivel from the lack of closeness. Also, he'd probably forget that as a girl, she had a few unique needs, and he would dismiss them or inadvertently get impatient with her. Besides, his priorities were a bit eschewed. Dean especially remembered the nights without food because John had left enough food and money for five days and had then gone hunting for eight days. At least the two brothers had had each other, and Sam had the magic puppy eyes and Dean had the ability to charm any female. Those gifts had not only kept them fed, they'd also kept the two of them from being thrown out of motel rooms, and from being carted off by Child Protection Services. Being older, wiser and not in danger of being taken away by well intending adults, Emily would probably figure out a solution if she got abandoned by John, but Dean would rather that never happened.

John hadn't thought it possible, but he felt incredibly hurt seeing the dismay on his sons' faces, and realising it wasn't because they were reluctant to part with their sister, which they were, but because they didn't trust him with her.

"She's better off with us." It was Dean who answered, having found what he believed was a less hurtful way of telling his father that there was no way in hell Emily was going with him.

"I think she'll learn more hunting with me …"

Even as he said it, John knew it wasn't true. Sure he'd taught Dean and his boy was the best hunter there was, but he'd not really taught Sam who was just as skilled, but just not as experienced. Dean had done that. He was the one who had had the patience to deal with Sam who had always been apathetic about hunting. But if he'd taught Dean and Dean had taught Sam, then in effect he'd taught Sam too, right? Nah, who was he kidding?

"… and I'll watch out for her," he couldn't believe he was in effect begging his sons for access to his daughter. John had asked the first question as a joke, the second question and third statement had been knee-jerk responses because his sons' reactions to his first question had hurt and rankled, but now, the idea had actually taken root, and he was really considering it seriously. He really could use a partner and Emily wouldn't be bad. From what he remembered of the drills at the yard, she was a good shot and she listened, and followed instructions which was one of the best traits of a junior hunter. Besides, she could make for good company. She was intelligent, witty, and nearly impossibly chirpy but knew when to keep quiet, and most importantly, unlike many hunters out there, she didn't hate his guts, at least not yet. Having no contentious past behind them, she and him had a rapport that was different from that he shared with his sons who he believed subconsciously resented him for their lacking childhoods. Of course neither had never expressly told him that, not even Sam who was very vocal, but he knew they did. He would if he were in their shoes.

The brothers snorted in derision at John's statement. Despite what he thought, it wasn't resentment holding back either of his sons. They just didn't fully trust him. Yes, they had confidence in him, and in his abilities, after all he was a great hunter, legendary really, but they didn't trust him.

Sam knew it was Dean who had watched out for him on hunts and not John. He also remembered how more often Dean had gotten hurt on hunts before Sam had joined the family business and started to watch his brother's back. Their father's idea of watching out for someone, was different from nearly everyone else's. Sam had no doubt their father loved them and would do absolutely anything and everything in his power to keep them safe, but on a hunt, the man was single minded. Only after the big bad they were hunting was destroyed would he check on his sons. Albeit when he checked, he did so with a gentleness he rarely showed outside of a hunt, so there was that. Still, Sam thought his father's saving graces were few.

"Dean and I watch out for her." he answered his father.

Dean's thought process was nearly parallel to Sam's. He couldn't trust his father to watch out for Emily, just like he'd not trusted him to watch out for Sam, because the man was reckless and rash. John went into a hunt with intention to neutralise the threat at all costs. Dean went into a hunt with the intention to keep his siblings safe while neutralising the threat. For him Sam and Emily came first. With John the hunt came first. So Dean would never let either sibling go off on a hunt with their father alone. Besides, it certainly didn't help that for all their logic, and reason and big brains, his siblings could be just as impulsive and tunnel visioned as their father.

"We all watch out for each other." Dean amended Sam's statement making his brother turn to look at him in pleased surprise.

"It's best for hunters to hunt in pairs!" Okay that wasn't true but John had run out of ammunition and had decided to use the gun as a club.

"You mostly hunt alone, so does Bobby and Rufus and I bet there are others we don't know. Besides, who says what's best and what isn't? It's not like there's a damn hunters' law or Bible out there! So, whatever works is probably best. You, me and Dean hunted together for years." Sam answered.

John glared at him. It was always Sam with the backtalk! "Only because I was training the two of you, so you could be able to hunt together as a pair."

"You trained me?" Sam was incredulous, his tone almost a mocking laugh, as he reacted to his father's words with angry disdain.

"Well, we're doing just fine hunting as a trio! We have a working system!" Dean cut in quickly giving his father no time to respond to Sam.

Now John was pissed. How dare his sons fight him so hard! So, he wasn't the best father out there, but he certainly wasn't the worst. His heart had always been in the right place, his intentions had always been good. Besides, the boys weren't entirely irreproachable when it came to their treatment of Emily. "You didn't even want her to come along with you!" he spoke realising belatedly how immature that sounded.

Dean's jaw began ticking furiously. When he spoke, his voice was quiet, but seething. "Yeah, well, she did, and now, we're working quite well together, no thanks to you by the way. You forced our hand but we've managed to make it work, and now you want to destroy it, uh? For what? A second chance? Absolution? Well, trust me, taking Rae with you is not the way to get redemption for being a crappy father!" There, he had said it. For the first time in his life, Dean had acknowledged his father's shortcomings. For years Sam had raged against John's brand of parenting, but Dean had never.

Then in the charged silence that followed, Sam spoke quietly, "I'll come with you."

Both Dean and John stared at him in shock.

If Dean had been the one making that offer, it would have been understandable and expected, but for Sam to make it? It was unbelievable! Sam hadn't wanted to go anywhere alone with his father since he'd turned fifteen.

"If it's a partner you want, I'll come with you. Emily will stay with Dean" Sam continued just as quietly.

John was astonished. When had his sons switched personalities? Dean was questioning him and Sam was being a martyr?

Then it hit him. Sam was now a big brother too. Of course he would take his cues from Dean. He could only be a big brother the way he had seen Dean be. Self-sacrificing and altruistic. Dean on the other hand was standing up to John for the first time, because this time, he could. As a child, Dean had had no choice but to defer to his father when it came to Sam, because John was the adult and the parent. Well, those days were over. Now, Dean was an adult too, and even though he was not the parent, he was the responsible one. He'd practically raised Sam. He was the one who had been there for his siblings. He was the one they both turned to when they needed comforting or reassurance, or advice, not John. Dean was the one who protected them, who watched over them.

John was grateful for one thing. His children were close and maybe he could get comfort from that. Even though it really hurt that their circle was not wide enough to include him.

"Not on my watch, Sam!" Dean declared adamantly to his brother.

Sam turned to glare at Dean. "You'd rather he take …"

"No! It's all of us or none!"

John couldn't believe how a small joke had escalated into this tense standoff. Sadness engulfed his heart as he realised his choices had led to this; led to his alienation from his own children. "Enough!" he bellowed. When his sons stiffened at the tone and turned to look at him, he continued. "Sam, you can't come with me!" then with a wry smile, he added, "We'd kill each other in weeks! And Emily, well … let's face it, she probably thinks I'm ancient or something, since I don't even have an email address!"

"Yeah! Even Sammy was shocked you knew how to send a text message!" Dean latched on to the opening, smiling wryly, playing along in a bid to ignore the hurt his father was trying to hide with the sudden lighthearted display.

John smiled. "Yeah well, I am not a moron you know!" he said, trying for the same air of indignation Emily had affected earlier, but falling short.

Dean snorted a laugh, "You have to use a bitch face and pitch your voice higher than that, dad! Come on Sam, show him how it's done!"

Sam glared at his brother, but his lips twitched and John let out a bark of genuine laughter. The humour helped, but the tense environment only started dissipating, as each Winchester battened down the discussion in his mind, never to acknowledge it again. Deflection, and repression, probably the greatest survival weapons the Winchesters employed had once again saved the day.


	4. Chapter 3

The residual tension melted away when Emily crashed into the room with a happy flush on her face and her eyes twinkling with joy. She returned John's keys with a cheery, "That was awesome!" and he groaned and wondered what she had done to his truck. Dean immediately got distracted by the fact that she had brought coconut cream pie, something she announced with relish and a grin in his direction. Sam, despite lecturing Dean about being a worrywart, was just glad she was back unharmed. On her part, Emily had noticed the tension between her brothers and father as soon as she burst into the room. It was hard to miss as it shone out of Dean's anxious eyes when they flickered quickly to her then swung back to John, and it was written in the stiff way Sam held himself, and unconsciously angled himself away from John and it was visible in John's thinned out lips. She wondered what had happened in her absence, but thought better of asking, knowing that questions would only escalate the situation. She also made a concerted effort not to let whatever was going on dampen her spirits. As it was, her upbeat bearing lightened everyone else's mood and breakfast was a surprisingly civil, drama free and enjoyable affair.

The calm didn't last long because in the middle of the light-hearted story telling and teasing and catching each other up, John unfortunately charted onto waters that were still turbulent.

"So what was it anyway?" he asked.

"What was what?" Emily asked.

"The creature in the park?"

"A wyvern! Frankly we were hoping for a griffin!" Dean answered, a small smile playing on his face.

John felt an unbelievable surge of parental pride; he'd be bragging about this one for years! "You took down a wyvern?" he spoke more in awe than disbelief. "I've never been up against one, but from what I've read, they're hard beasts to pin down. That would have been one hell of a situation to handle alone!" he added wryly. It was a sincere and innocent remark, that was unfortunately ill-timed. John didn't mean anything by it but considering the contentious topic earlier, it was the wrong thing to say.

"Well, I'm sure you'd have found a way to do it alone!" Sam said rather snidely. He couldn't believe John was still trying to guilt them into letting Emily go with him.

John's eyes flicked curiously to Sam, then to Dean who had immediately tensed at his brother's words. For Dean's sake, John chose to ignore Sam's tone, instead continuing to speak with droll humour. "Maybe I would have, but rather you three than me, uh? So how did you destroy it?"

Emily perked excitedly and opened her mouth intending a detailed retelling of the hunt while Dean readied himself to add anecdotes to the tale and complaints about how the wyvern had scratched up his baby's roof.

"We shot it with salt, iron and silver." Sam answered shortly, beating his siblings to the punch.

Emily's mouth snapped shut, Dean raised an eyebrow and John frowned.

Sam looked at each one in turn, then shrugged, "What? That's what happened!"

"Yeah, the extremely condensed version!" Emily muttered. She couldn't for the life of her understand why Sam was suddenly being obnoxious. She glanced at Dean, and saw the weary resignation in his eyes. Apparently, he had been expecting this, whatever this was.

"Well, dad's not really interested in details! You might as well save your breath!" Sam told Emily.

"Why would you say that?" John asked mildly, refusing to be baited into a fight.

"Jesus, Dad! We all know you don't really care, so stop pretending to. We're not buying it! Okay?" Sam said dismissively.

Great! Dean thought. He wasn't surprised though, he had known the calm wouldn't last. Still he tried a last ditch effort to reign in his brother. "Sam …" he began.

Sam refused to be placated by his brother. "No, Dean! Enough! Do not defend him!" he growled at Dean before turning to John with a thunderous glower and pouring out his frustrations and bitterness in accusatory vitriol. "All you care about is the damn hunt! We haven't heard from you in months, and no, those stupid coordinates messages you send don't count. Where were you when we needed you? Where were you when Dean was dying, huh? We called and you didn't even call back! Then you waltz in here like you're just coming back from a short walk, and you expect us to pretend everything's perfect? You think we'd let you take Rae with you, as if she's another weapon in your arsenal you can pick up and take hunting with you until you acquire another?"

Emily's eyes widened at this revelation. John had wanted her to go with him? Well, that must have gone down well with her brothers! And it explained the tension she'd walked in on earlier. She looked at John who had an unreadable look on his face, then at Sam whose nose was flaring in anger and distress, then she glanced at Dean who had a pained, almost traumatised look on his face.

"Well, you know what? Screw you dad, we've managed to get by without you and we'll be fine if you walk right back out of that door now!" Sam finished with hateful flourish.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Emily didn't know what to do. She could storm and rage with the best of them, but usually, it was in resistance to something said or done to her, or in defence of her opinion or stand, or in annoyance, mild anger or downright rage, and she could more than hold her own in an argument. However, she was extremely awkward when she was a third party to a fight, or as in this case a rant, especially one that was filled with such deep hurt and grief. So she sat eerily still, as if that would somehow make her invisible, and she waited for Dean to handle this one.

Dean on the other hand was silent because he didn't know whether to applaud Sam or tell him off. He knew that Sam, considerate as ever, had tried to hold in the bitterness he had towards John, because he hadn't wanted to ruin the reunion with their father for his siblings. Unfortunately, Sam had never been one to successfully hide his feelings for long. Dean opened his mouth to speak, but his brain was short-circuiting, refusing to string together a coherent thought long enough for it to get to his mouth.

Then John did the most uncharacteristic thing he'd ever done in his sons' eyes. He apologised. "I'm sorry," he said simply, and sincerely, without any dramatics, without trying to absolve himself, and without making Sam out to be the bad guy.

The brothers' jaws hit the ground. Dean quietly whispered Christo. Emily who had heard enough about John from her brothers to know that an apology from him was uncharacteristic, was just as surprised. The three siblings instinctively drew closer to each other and John wondered whether they did that for emotional support, or for physical safety, or so they could launch a devastating united attack if he tried anything.

"I should have called back, but I had no doubt you'd be okay, and I had my reasons for not calling." he continued.

"Really?" Sam snarled. He wasn't just going to let his anger dissolve just because their father was behaving uncharacteristically. He needed a quantifiable answer.

"I couldn't call or even come to you guys because there were people on my trail. I didn't want to lead them straight to you."

"Who were they? Hunters? Police? FBI?" Dean asked quickly, eager to keep the change in topic as analysing their father's parental lethargy would only breed more angst and discord.

"I never found out." John admitted rather reluctantly.

"Really!" Dean couldn't help the incredulity that crept into his voice as his eyes roamed over his father, checking for a tell.

"What did they want?" Sam asked grudgingly, his curiosity momentarily overpowering his indignation.

"I never found that out either! After about three days of trying to shake them, I decided to set a trap, then I doubled back to sneak up on them, and they were gone!"

"They just left?" Dean exclaimed in disbelief. "You didn't lose them? What if they just backed off to give you a false sense of security? Are you sure you weren't followed here?" he added, then his eyes widened as he realised he had just questioned his father's skills. He waited for John to lash into him.

John didn't exactly lash out, but in a hard voice he answered with a question of his own. "You think I would lead a group of strangers to you three without at least giving you a heads up?"

Dean stared at the ground and shook his head. He knew that if there was need, John would at least call ahead so they wouldn't be caught by surprise.

"I made damn sure!" John added.

"It doesn't make any sense!" Sam said in a voice that was part pensive and part suspicious. Even though the hunting world rarely made sense, some things remained logical. Being followed inevitably led to a confrontation, one way or another. When that didn't happen, it was utterly disconcerting.

"I know!" John shrugged, clearly as mystified by the events as his sons were. "Who knows, maybe I was being paranoid!"

Being paranoid was one thing Sam and Dean would never accuse John of. They could tell he had been unsettled by the happenings. So maybe his keeping away was necessary and hence forgivable.

Emily had watched in amazement as the atmosphere in the room changed once again, from highly charged family drama to cool calculated analysis mode in barely any time. She shook her head slightly thinking how her family could give a person emotional whiplash! Well, as the contentious topic from before seemed to have been laid aside, at least for now, she decided to join in the discussion with a concern of hers. "Could they have been possessed or something?"

"I highly doubt that. There were five of them after all ... they would have taken me on or something, but from your question I take it Bobby called you about the reavers?" John answered, quickly intuiting Emily's fear.

Emily said yeah and the boys nodded. John saw the emotions that flitted across their faces. Fear, sorrow, then resolve in Emily's case, and worry followed by grim determination on the boys' faces. John nodded in approval. His children were not going to fold.

"What we don't understand is why the demons want her soul downstairs!" Dean finally voiced what had been bothering him since Bobby's call.

Sam nodded in agreement with Dean. Emily remained outwardly stoic even though her heart had started hammering in anxiety. She had known the question would eventually be asked. In fact, she was surprised it hadn't been asked till now. Given the chance to ask anything, Dean had asked how a reaver could be killed. The answer to that question hadn't exactly been comforting either. Emily could have gladly stayed ignorant to that information, and she really didn't want to know why demons wanted her. She was terrified to find out. Was she some evil lynchpin or something? Was she a monster? The circumstances of her conception were not lost on her. She was aware that John had not been in control when she'd been conceived. So she had his DNA, but what if she had inherited something else from whatever had been in the driving seat? Something evil?

"You read the letters that were in the box, didn't you?" John asked in answer.

Emily nodded. She'd read them so many times, she'd never forget the contents. Sam and Dean looked sheepish. Dean had never bothered to even look into the box, while Sam had started to read the letters but hadn't gotten too far, and subsequent events and circumstances had not allowed him to get back to the task. He'd consequently convinced himself the letters weren't of much significance to Emily's safety as long as she was with him and Dean. Besides, John had taken the box with him.

John frowned at his sons. He could understand Dean's reluctance. Emily's letters, written to her by her biological mother, would have gotten Dean thinking about and missing his own lost mother. The task would have been too painful for him. But Sam who didn't remember Mary at all, and loved hearing about her, shouldn't have had much trouble with the letters. John took a deep breath. Lecturing his sons about their responsibilities would not endear him to them, and would serve no purpose. He might as well explain Emily's possible destiny.

"Emily's mother was convinced that Emily is the balance, so …" he began.

"The balance? What does that mean?" Sam asked.

John sighed. The boys really hadn't read the letters. "Well, according to a couple of prophesies, after the end of days, the balance is meant to restore order, and keep the power from being tipped by either side."

"Either side?"

"Heaven and hell."

"Heaven? You're kidding, right?" Dean snorted a disbelieving laugh.

"Well, the prophecies certainly think it exists, so who knows?" John said with a similar disbelieving snort.

Sam rolled his eyes at them. He couldn't believe they were such sceptics given the nature of the family business.

"Anyway, whatever it is that Emily is meant to do is connected to that Bible passage that states the meek will inherit the earth." John continued.

Emily frowned. She already knew that, but it didn't answer why the demons wanted her. John saw her puzzlement, he realised that even Emily who knew about her status as the balance, did not understand how that made her such a wanted commodity. Apparently, neither did her brothers, because Sam was quick to ask, "Why would the demons want her downstairs and not just dead?" He glanced at her and added apologetically, "Not that I want you dead, Rae, I'm just saying!"

She smiled widely at him, vindicating him immediately. Of course she understood what he was asking.

"Don't you guys get it? If Emily becomes a demon, then demons will inherit the earth through her! It's a good thing that prophesies get lost in time and that that particular prophesy is not common knowledge, otherwise there would be a bounty on her head!"

Horrified understanding slowly dawned in three pairs of eyes.

"It's common enough knowledge, dad! Demons want to kill her!" Dean said in utter horror.

"I know, but from what I can tell, it's only one demon. Unfortunately it appears to be a high tier one, so it is very powerful. However, it's also extremely territorial and distrustful. Because of this, it sends only one or two underlings at a time so as not to draw its peers' attention. Also, it appears the underlings don't leave a trail of death and destruction, so I think they're expected to keep a low profile."

"Well, that's marginally good news, but it's still not very comforting. I don't think the 'do not murder clause' extends to Rae!" Dean protested.

"Jesus, guys could you be more sensitive!" Sam admonished his brother and father. They were talking as if Emily was not in the room with them. "Are you okay?" he asked Emily who he noticed had gone rather pale.

"Sorry!" Dean apologised immediately.

"Am I part demon?" Emily asked in a whisper, her eyes wide and glassy with unshed tears of fear and anxiety.

"Shit! Is that what she thought?" John thought, his heart constricting in sympathy for his daughter and the fear and dread she must have been living with all this time. "Of course, you're not!" he exclaimed.

"But you just said …" she began.

"What? I didn't say you were a demon. I said you could become one ... yes, but that doesn't mean you're one, or partly one now. Demons are not born, they're created from human souls that have been corrupted and warped after years of torture in hell."

"But you weren't yourself when you met my mother. What if whatever possessed you is in me?"

"Hey, I want you to listen to me carefully, okay? Even if you were conceived wrong, even if you had consequently been born evil, which knowing you, you obviously weren't, you are family! And family comes first and above all else!" Dean said forcefully. "You hear me?"

Emily nodded. The intense look in Dean's eyes didn't scare her; instead, it was reassuring.

Sam looped an arm around her shoulders. "Yep, sorry to have to tell you this, but you're stuck with us!"

"Unfortunately!" John added with a smile, laying a hand on her knee.

The fear and anxiety Emily had been feeling was quickly overtaken by relief and love. Her lips upturned in a shaky smile. Whoever or whatever Gale Cursor had been, he'd given her a great gift, intentional or not.

Dean's eyes softened as he looked at his siblings. Then he turned back to John. "So if we take out the demon … Rae will be safe, right? Well, as safe as a hunter can ever be!"

"Yes! And when I find out who he is, I'm going to kill the son of a bitch!"John said with a wild glint in his eyes.

"How?" Sam couldn't help asking. John was one of the best hunters out there, but even he couldn't kill a demon.

"I'll find a way." John said mildly. He'd tell them about the colt when the time was right.

Sam looked at his father questioningly. Somehow, he sensed the man was leaving something out, but he didn't call him out on it. Now was not the time to get into it with his father; not when his siblings needed him. He smiled at Emily who needed his reassurance and protection. Then he stole a glance at Dean who needed support even though he'd never admit it.

* * *

John hadn't intended to stay past breakfast, but he hadn't seen his children, especially his sons in so long, and even though the reunion hadn't gone as smoothly as he'd imagined it would, he really was happy to see them. Besides, he'd known there would be some animosity towards him though he'd really not anticipated the actual intensity. But now that they'd tackled the issues, and hopefully drained the emotional bile, maybe the rest of the day could be crisis free. And he also remembered that melancholy night when he'd realised the picture he had of his sons was so old, and that he had none of Emily. He'd sworn to himself that the next time he met with his children, he'd make sure they took some photos. So he decided to spend the day with them with no further talk of hunting. He knew it was a belated gesture that couldn't begin to make up for all the times he'd been a subpar father, but it was all he could offer. He hoped that someday they'd look back at today with fondness.

They packed up and left the motel, driving into town. Emily rode with John at her request and on the short drive, he asked how she was coping. He was glad to hear she loved and enjoyed her brothers' company, though she sometimes longed for privacy. She found the challenges and unpredictability of hunting exhilarating, even though she hated the emotional cost of some of the hunts. She loved being on the road, especially at night when she could pretend the three of them were the only people in the world, but she hated having to sit for long. She didn't care much for some of the motels they'd been in, but liked the diversity of the people they met. She threw his question back at him and even though he was less forthcoming than she'd been, he shared more than he usually did.

When they got to the mall, she raised an eyebrow at the location. "You'll see!" he promised with a grin as they climbed out of the truck and waited for the boys to sidle up to them. They strode into the mall, oblivious to the mostly appreciative looks they were getting.

John stopped in front of a photo booth and turned to see his children's reactions. The wide eyed looks of horror his sons were sporting made him laugh heartily. The shock they exhibited, while not the exorcism he'd thought they would perform on him, was still hilarious. Emily looked at them with a 'what's wrong with you two?' look on her face, chuckled happily and clapped, "Come on, what are we waiting for?" When no one followed her in, she popped back outside, went round her brothers and shoved them into the tiny booth, then jumped in and onto Sam's lap. John who was still chortling followed them in and closed the curtain. It was a tight fit.

"This qualifies as cruel and unusual punishment!" Dean grumbled though a smile was evident in his voice. The last time their father had done something spontaneous that was not hunt related was the day he'd called off work and taken Dean to the fair. The fire that had changed their lives had happened two days later.

After going through the themes that included best friends forever, sweethearts, and fun and flirty, they settled for general. The brothers quickly lost their inhibitions, especially as their cheery sister teased them, and laughed gaily and their father wore an uncharacteristically happy expression and smiled at the carryings on. They discarded a couple of photo sets with comments like, "You ruined this one, waving your huge hands around!" and "You look constipated in this one!" The strip of photos they settled on had rather conventional shots of the four of them grinning at the camera, with only slight differences between the pictures. Sam who was the most meticulous, cut the picture strip into four and each of them took a picture.

They wandered aimlessly until they found a corner that had arcade games and they tried their luck, or rather showcased their skills at the shooting game. The bemused attendant handed over their prizes which they promptly gave away to some kids. A teenage boy looked at Emily with interest, and began to head over. Sam's glare did nothing to dissuade him, Dean's frown gave him only slight pause, but the implacable look on John's face made the boy scurry away. Sam and Dean shook their heads and whipped out their wallets, each handing John ten dollars. Emily huffed at the three of them and turned away. They had no way of knowing she was grinning at the absurdity of their bet. Later they sat down to lunch, which they filled with tales that got more outrageous as each one tried to outdo the other. They then went to the cinema. The movie they'd paid for bored them ten minutes in so they left and went to another hall where they watched a western, snickering at the shooting inaccuracies and the overly dramatic deaths.

It was 6 pm when they stood in the parking lot saying their goodbyes. Despite the disastrous morning, the day had turned out remarkably well, and it was therefore with heavy hearts that the three siblings said goodbye to John. It wasn't everyday that he was a father in any sense of the word and they were going to miss that. They were going to miss him.

"Can't we come with you?" Emily asked, already knowing the answer.

In answer, John briefly touched his forehead to hers, then he grabbed her in a hug. He hugged Sam, then Dean, giving his oldest an extra pat on the back before getting in his truck. "Take care of each other." He nodded once and drove away.

The three of them watched the truck disappear then without a word, they got into the impala, Emily in the backseat since Sam had called shotgun. They went in the opposite direction to their father's.

For the first hour on the road, no one spoke. Then Dean finally verbalised his awe,"Well, that was surreal!"

"Yeah!" both Sam and Emily agreed with wistful smiles on their faces.


	5. Chapter 4

In an alley almost two blocks away from the mall the Winchesters had been in, a tall brown haired woman spoke to four younger men. "Follow them. Hopefully they're going home to their mother. When they meet up with her, rip out their throats and hers too. Send me pictures of proof, when you're done!"

"Sure thing mum," one of the men said.

"Want us to bring you the hearts too?" a second one quipped but there was a morbid seriousness to his question.

"That won't be necessary, Gunner!" the woman smiled indulgently.

"Do we have to kill the girl too?" a third asked quietly, almost regretfully.

"All of them!" the woman emphasised. "Now get to it, before they get too far ahead and you lose their scent." The five of them had been tailing John, but he had spotted them and laid an impressive trap. John fucking Winchester was really as good as his legend. It was more luck than skill that they'd not been caught. Duly humbled, they had decided to fall further back and follow him only by scent. With their heightened sense of smell, they could tail him from miles away, only drawing closer cautiously when necessary for example when he went into a bar, where his scent mingled with others and was harder to isolate.

Remote-tailing John Winchester hadn't been easy. He visited bars a lot and it didn't help that he was an inherently suspicious man for whom evasion measures were second nature, whether he thought he was being followed or not. Still, the method had worked, because after some insane precautionary manoeuvres on his part, some of which had almost been successful at shaking them off, he had led them to their target — his children, who would hopefully lead to his wife. Then John would pay for his sins through the loss of his loved ones.

As instructed, the men piled into a nondescript minivan.

"Hunter?" the woman held back the eldest man momentarily, "Take care of the girl yourself, I don't think Archer can manage it. He won't have the same misgivings when it comes to her brothers so he and Carver should do them. Gunner can take the mother."

Hunter knew all his brothers well, including their strengths, weaknesses and dispositions, and he'd have delegated the duties the same way. He smiled at his mother, got behind the wheel of the van and drove off.

The woman got into a battered Toyota. She pulled down the sun visor, and touched her fingers to her lips then to the picture stuck on the visor. "Through our sons, revenge will be ours, my love," she whispered with feeling. She then carried out an illegal U-turn to go in the opposite direction to the one her sons had gone in.

* * *

It was almost 2 a.m. when Dean parked the impala in Bobby's salvage yard. He'd reluctantly let Sam and Emily drive for two hours each before getting back behind the wheel. Sam had jokingly called him a control freak, and Emily had agreed, saying something stereotypically ridiculous about first-borns. After snorting with laughter, Dean had pointed out that she had technically been a first born for eighteen years, so she'd just profiled herself too. She countered saying she'd been a last born as well, so she was better adjusted. That had brought Sam back into the conversation as he declared that he was the best adjusted of all three. He'd given a number of examples that had Dean and Emily laughing and scoffing rebuttals. The minutes that had followed had been filled with good-natured name calling and silly outrageous digs at each other. When Emily had fallen asleep, and Sam had gotten lost in his thoughts, Dean had played his Metallica tape for company, the volume set low in deference to Emily. He'd been surprised but pleased when Sam's head had fallen back, his mouth slack with sleep. His brother wasn't getting much sleep and any little he snatched made Dean feel better. He'd reached over and turned off the music, as a courtesy to Sam, and the next 120 miles had been covered in silence, something Dean was not accustomed to or really comfortable with.

He was glad the journey was over. He hated to wake either sibling up, especially Sam, but he had to. He rolled his neck and popped his shoulders before shaking both awake.

Emily sat up slowly, yawning and rubbing her eyes. "Where are we?" she asked sleepily. Then her eyes widened as she took in her surroundings illuminated by the car's headlights. "We're home!" She bounded out of the car hollering Bobby's name, all traces of sleep gone.

Sam exited the vehicle in a more leisurely manner, he let out an exaggerated yawn and stretched his long frame. He grinned as he watched Emily, marvelling at her sudden energy. It was obvious she had missed Bobby. "There's no place like home." he whispered softly to himself. After the impala, Bobby's place was the only other place he and Dean considered home. He knew Emily had inherited a house from her parents, but he wondered whether she still considered it home. She never talked about it, so there was no way of knowing.

Dean heard Sam's quiet declaration and agreed with it completely, but he had a rep to protect, and he was not going to get mushy. Besides, Sam had just presented him with fodder for his next statement, and he was not going to miss the opportunity. "You said it, Dorothy!" he said heartily clapping his brother on the shoulder. "Let's go, I'm hungry!"

"You're always hungry, and if I'm Dorothy wouldn't that make you To…" Sam began as he popped the trunk.

"Finish that sentence and I'll kick your ass!" Dean interrupted him with a mock glare.

Sam chuckled, as he grabbed a couple of duffel bags. "I forget how cranky you get when you're hungry."

Dean grabbed the rest of the bags and closed the trunk. Ahead of them, Emily used the light of her phone to retrieve a key from the glovebox of a rusted tow truck. "Guess we beat him home," she said with disappointment as she crossed over to the door. She had really been looking forward to seeing Bobby again. And Rumsfeld.

"He'll be back soon enough." Dean pointed out gently, then ruined it by adding with a grin in Sam's direction, "Dorothy here just has to click her shoes just right!"

"I will, when Toto here stops misbehaving!" Sam retorted.

"Well, for the sake of results, you might want to lower your expectations of him!" Emily told Sam.

"Frankly, I don't know whether that was an insult or a compliment!" Dean waggled his eyebrows. Laughing, they went upstairs to their rooms.

"Hey sweetheart, I missed you! Did you miss me?" Emily caressed her guitar, then gave it a kiss.

Sam who had just walked in through the open door to drop off Emily's duffel and satchel chuckled, "You sound like someone we are both unfortunately related to!"

Emily put down the guitar and smiled, "Nuh huh, I've been away from my baby for months, Sam, months! Dean on the other hand practically kisses his car good morning!"

"Well, she's the only girl I've ever really understood! You two interested in a sandwich?" Dean popped his head round the door frame.

"Yes!" Emily said enthusiastically.

"I'm good. Going to have a shower and turn in." Sam declined.

Dean rolled his eyes at his brother's answer and headed downstairs.

"Goodnight!" Emily impulsively pecked Sam on the cheek and took off after Dean.

In companionable silence, the two of them constructed elaborate sandwiches. They ate standing, Dean leaning against the kitchen sink and Emily propped by the desk next to Bobby's law-enforcement impersonation phones.

Halfway through his sandwich, Dean spoke. "When this is over, do you think you'll go back?"

"What do you mean? Go back where? When what is over?" Emily asked curiously.

"When we gank the thing that killed your family, and tried to kill you, will you return to your old life? I mean school? Friends? Apple pie life?"

"This is my life now, Dean." Emily said softly, with no reproach in her voice.

"Yes, now it is, but when there's no reason for you to be a hunter anymore, will you leave?"

"How can you say that? There will always be a reason to hunt! There will be other monsters, even after we've killed the one that is after me!" Emily was aghast that Dean would think her so selfish. That he would think she was here only for herself.

"I didn't mean to …"

Emily interrupted him. "I know the reason I wanted to hunt was for revenge, but along the way it has become so much more. This life may not be what I pictured my life would be, but I'm not complaining."

"Hey, keep your boots on! I didn't mean it as an insult. I just … I, I don't want this life for you!"

Emily immediately simmered down at his words. "You'd be a lousy big brother if you didn't have misgivings, but there are worse things than hunting. True we see some terrible things and we sometimes get hurt, and it's mostly a thankless gig, but that comes with the territory, and you can't deny feeling that sense of accomplishment when we get rid of another evil thing, and save someone. I like hunting … well, mostly. I admit it does get to me sometimes, but the only time I'd ever consider walking away from it, is if you and Sam leave as well. You two, Bobby and John are the only family I've got, and I won't just give you up!"

"You wouldn't be giving us up! Just the hunting. What if I said I wanted you to consider it? Leaving the hunt I mean?"

Emily tilted her head to the side. "If you asked? Then I would consider it, but I don't think I'll ever fit in the normal world again."

Dean looked at his sister in amused disbelief. Despite being on the road with them for nearly a year and roughnecking it, Emily's traditional upbringing still shone through. She'd dug graves, had been relatively comfortable in spit and sawdust bars, had spent a couple of nights in negative star motels, had slept in the impala, had gone two days without a proper bath, had trekked through mud, had totally thrown down in fights, and she did have a whiplash tongue and could be very sarcastic, yet despite this and more, her bearing, speech and mannerisms had somehow retained their innate refinement. She still only used cuss words in her head never out loud unless under immense pressure or the influence of meds, she still blushed at rude jokes, she was socially competent, polite, and wasn't as paranoid as he and Sam. If anyone could fit in the normal world again, it was her. And Dean wanted her back in that world, because in the world of hunters, Emily was like a rose in a valley of cacti.

Like the cacti, the rose has its thorns, and they're just as sharp, and Dean knew first hand that underneath that delicate seemingly harmless exterior, Emily was just as capable as any other hunter out there, just as dangerous. While she wasn't quite yet a veteran of dangerous situations and difficult choices like him and Sam, Emily could hold her own in many situations and was good at making decisions. Of course he would never completely stop worrying about her physical safety, she was his baby sister after all, but Emily's ability to look after herself made him worry less about that. However, he was constantly afraid about what hunting would do to her psyche. Unlike the cacti that could survive for long in hostile environments, a rose would wither and die after long exposure. It scared Dean that if Emily stayed too long in the darkness of the hunting world, she'd lose herself. The hunt in Greenville had really brought this truth home to him. For a while there, after the end of that hunt, mostly because of the death of Keith Foley, the light in Emily's eyes had dimmed so low, it was like she'd died inside. With relief, Dean had watched the light flicker back to life and grow steadily to return to him the vibrant sister he knew. But what if some hunt down the road extinguished that light completely? She was having nightmares, which was never a good sign. Nightmares indicated a shattered conscience; the mind blamed itself but successfully suppressed the guilt when awake and busy, only for the guilt to explode with all its poison when the person slept. Nightmares were destroying Sam, and despite trying everything, Dean couldn't do a damn thing to protect his brother from his own mind. And now it was happening to his sister. He didn't want to lose either one, and if that meant setting them free, he'd do it.

So he negotiated, "Okay, how about semi retirement? You know, like Bobby?"

Emily smiled. "Bobby is awesome, I love him, and I love this place, but after I've read all the books here, which granted may take a while, and the novelty of answering phone calls pretending to be an agent's supervisor has worn off, then what? I mean there's only so many panic rooms and such side projects Bobby can have that I could participate in."

"You could go back to school, and just go on a couple of hunts with Bobby when he decides to handle a hunt instead of delegating it, or hunt with me and Sam during your holidays." Dean was not giving up.

Emily realised that even though Dean was speaking almost nonchalantly, he had put considerable thought into this conversation, and these suggestions. She wondered why he was pushing this so hard. "What is this really about?" she finally asked, her eyes narrowed in questioning suspicion.

Dean sighed. Damn, his sister was sharp. He decided to bite the bullet. "Rae, those nightmares you have, what are they about?"

"Fuck!" Emily thought. This wasn't what she'd been expecting. She laughed; a brittle fake laugh that didn't touch her eyes. "Dean, we hunt monsters, don't you think it's inevitable for me to have nightmares?"

Dean almost smiled. Sarcasm, another Winchester deflection. Well, he was the king of deflection, and this wasn't going to stop him. "No it's not inevitable; you're good at compartmentalisation, remarkably so. I mean, your first brush with the supernatural, with that damn reaver that tried to kill you should have left you traumatised for days, but aside from that one nightmare Bobby told us you had in the hospital, you were mostly okay. After your first hunt, killing that cacus and seeing Bobby hurt like that, you should have been a wreck, but you weren't! Well, except for threatening Pastor Jim and refusing to sleep. I know you had nightmares about Keith, Sam told me, but those are reducing in intensity and frequency. So I'm relatively certain that these nightmares you're having now, have nothing to do with our hunts, at least not directly. I know they began after Bobby told us about the reaver's MO and I can only speculate what they're about, but you have to loop me in. So what I want to know is, what's going on, Rae?"

Emily didn't answer. Her appetite was suddenly gone, but she still stuffed the last chunk of her sandwich into her mouth and chewed determinedly, her eyes avoiding Dean.

He sighed in consternation. He knew the signs, he knew she was going to bolt soon. Emily could be annoyingly complex. Dean wondered whether it was a girl thing or a peculiarity unique to just her. She was a reticent almost shy person, especially when she was among strangers, but conversely, she was a sharer. He knew she'd eventually talk her issues out. But she often times needed prompting, needed interest to be explicitly expressed first before she shared. Still, that didn't mean she was always forthright when asked. Sometimes she could be resistant, and outright refuse to share. There were all sorts of reasons for this. Sometimes it was her stubborn sense of independence getting in the way as she tried to solve her problem herself, sometimes it was out of misguided concern for the person asking, when she thought the person wouldn't be able to handle what she had to say or would be hurt. Sometimes, she just didn't know how to articulate the issue. Deciphering her reasons for reluctance was frustrating and often a lesson in futility. So Dean usually didn't even try, letting Sam do the legwork or leaving Emily alone until she was ready to talk.

"Okay, how about you and Sam talk it out?" he suggested. He figured it would be cathartic for both of them, since both were big on sharing and it could also be their Winchester slash hunter's version of a psych evaluation.

Emily swallowed, picked up her glass and gulped the water down quickly. Then she busied herself rinsing it out and putting it away.

"Rae?" Dean insisted. He knew pushing and nagging were the two fastest ways to get Emily to dig in her heels, or close down but he couldn't help it.

"Dean, it's really late. I have to go to bed." She turned and walked away, stopping at the door when Dean spoke.

"Wrong, geek! It's actually, really early," he began with a wry smile, getting serious as he continued, "but Rae, you have to talk to someone. Me? Sam? Bobby? It doesn't matter. It doesn't even have to be today or tomorrow or the day after that, but I feel you should do it while we're here decompressing. Who knows, maybe it'll help get your head on straight again."

Emily's hands curled into fists, and she almost leapt at the last sentence, hearing censure in it, but she quickly realised Dean was not criticising her. So she instead focused on the concern she heard in his voice and the fact that he was not forcing the issue or giving an ultimatum. "Fine, I'll consider it, okay?" she said a bit curtly. Then she softened, and with a slight apologetic and fond smile she looked at him over her shoulder, "Goodnight."

"G'Night." He hoped she wouldn't have nightmares tonight or ever again. He wished the same for Sam. He wished he had the power to protect them from themselves, but sadly, that was the one thing he couldn't do. Especially when he couldn't do it for a long sigh he finished his sandwich, then called Bobby to let him know they'd made it to the yard.

"Well, ya damn bunch of idjits better not break anything!" was the man's growled answer.

Dean smiled. He really loved the gruff man; Bobby was full of sentimentality but fiercely pretended not to be. "I can't promise that Bobby, you know how clumsy Gigantor is! With his ten mile size feet and uncoordinated elbows!"

Bobby chuckled appreciatively. Sam was no longer that clumsy, but when he'd first hit his growth spurt, he'd been as graceful as a minotaur in a china shop. He could literally stumble over his own feet and was prone to crashing into things as he miscalculated his new size. Dean though put out by the sudden height advantage his little brother had on him, had been thoroughly amused by the accident-proneness the height brought and had teased Sam mercilessly. Sam had since learnt how to handle his new body, and now moved with the fluid agility of the hunter he was, but that didn't stop Dean's jokes.

Dean went upstairs twenty minutes later after making sure the house was secure. Feeling anxious about not having Emily with them in the same room, he checked in on her before going to his and Sam's room. He got into bed and listened to Sam's steady breathing for a while before falling asleep.

.


	6. Chapter 5

It felt good to sleep in. Dean woke to find a note on the nightstand. He easily recognised Emily's penmanship.

"_Hey Rip Van Winkle, if we're not home when you wake up, we've gone grocery hunting. Nothing in the kitchen is edible, not even for you Mr. I've-got-a-disposal-bin-for-a-stomach!_" She'd signed off as Mary Poppins.

Dean chuckled appreciatively as he shuffled to the bathroom, emerging ten minutes later smelling fruity. Sam and Emily were back. He could hear them in the kitchen. Though he couldn't make out what they were saying, he could tell they were happy; they were kidding around and teasing each other. He hummed to himself as he dressed, admitting to himself that the downtime was already proving beneficial, even to him. He rubbed antibiotic cream into his palms and wrapped a gauze bandage round them to cover the burns. He'd start the repairs on the impala tomorrow or the day after because he didn't want to pick up an infection. He raced down the stairs, his smile a knee-jerk reaction to his siblings' happiness. The sight that met his eyes in the kitchen made him stop for a moment. Sam was whipping batter while Emily was flipping a golden brown pancake. They were having a particularly silly discussion about the impossibility of time travel. Emily's hair was loose, the way he knew she liked to wear it but rarely did while on a hunt, and she was wearing a cheery knee length floral dress and her worn flip flops. He hadn't seen her looking this girly since they'd hit the road. Sam was barefoot, and was wearing a pair of sweatpants and a green tee that had faded to a weird minty colour. Dean smiled at the tableau.

"If Sam made that, I'm not eating it!" he declared, even though the finished pancake looked and smelt mouthwatering. Sam glared at him.

"Hey he's actually not that bad. All he needed was a little direction!" Emily defended Sam. Dean raised a sceptical eyebrow. Emily giggled at his look and amended her statement, "Okay, he needed a lot of direction! A staggering number of instructions were necessary to get to this point! But trust me, breakfast is going to be great."

"Oooookay!" Dean said reluctantly, skirting round his siblings to get to the coffee. After he'd taken a sip, smiling appreciatively at the bitterness, he asked. "So what kind of pancakes are those?"

"Bacon pancakes. We're having them with whipped cream and strawberries." Sam smiled as he recited religiously what Emily had told him earlier when he'd asked.

"Have you lost your mind? I don't do fruits!" Dean protested.

"I would hope you don't! That would be disgusting and terribly disturbing!" Sam snickered.

"Sam! That's grossly inappropriate!" Emily admonished Sam ruining the reprimand with a laugh. Then she turned to Dean. "No strawberries, no pancakes!" she scolded him seriously.

Sam laughed at the stricken look on Dean's face. "Relax! It's not like we're eating a basket of the things!"

"Fine, but you'd better be using real butter in those pancakes and none of that fat free nonsense!" Dean huffed.

"Of course!" Emily said in mock affront. She would never consider fat free anything, it just didn't taste right. Besides, life was short.

They ate in the study, thinking up outrageous punishments Bobby would give them if they spilt coffee on his desk. Dean enthused about the pancakes, and admitted very grudgingly that the whipped cream made the strawberries palatable.

After the meal, Emily bribed Dean into cleaning up with an offer to bake a cake later on.

Dean considered using his healing hands as an excuse to get out of cleaning duty then thought better of it. "Make it a pie and you're on!" he instead bargained.

Emily smiled sheepishly, "I can't make pie crusts to save my life, so unfortunately the offer can only be a cake!"

Dean briefly thought of the pancakes, remembered how good they'd been, and he agreed to the terms. He waved away Sam's offer of help so the two of them left him to it. Emily headed to her room and grabbed her pedicure set, her modest collection of nail polish and her guitar then headed back to the den where Sam was already situated reading a book. She settled herself on the floor and began the task of cutting her nails using a sheet of paper to contain the clippings. Then singing along softly to the music coming from the stereo, she set about painting the nails. It had been a while since she'd done it so she kept getting it wrong and kept removing the polish to start again.

"You've lost your touch!" Dean laughed softly from the doorway where he'd been standing watching her for a minute. Despite having known a multitude of girls over the years, Emily was the first girl he'd watched painting her nails, and no matter how many times he did, he was always fascinated by it.

"Uh?" Emily startled, messing up the nail she'd been painting. With a frustrated huff she cleaned it up. "I guess I'm out of practice!" she sighed.

"Ah, it's just as well, let's go bake that cake!" Dean said unsympathetically.

Emily scrambled to her feet. "I can see you're really broken up about my broken talent!" she said drily.

Grinning widely, Dean grabbed her in a headlock and gave her a playful noogie. "I promise I'll be suitably broken up about it when we … eer ... when you are done baking!"

"How wonderful!" Emily tried to convey the words with sarcasm but failed terribly because she was snorting with laughter, trapped under Dean's armpit.

"Sammy? You coming?" Dean called over his shoulder.

Distracted by his siblings' playfulness, Sam had only gone seven pages into his book but it wasn't like he had an exam or anything. With an eye roll and a fond smile, he closed the book and followed the two idiots to the kitchen.

While Sam threw himself into the cake production as enthusiastically as he had the pancake making, Dean did more tasting than helping, and Emily supervised the proceedings giggling hysterically at her brothers' antics.

"You know raw eggs can make you sick, right?" Sam asked frowning in disapproval as Dean licked the cake mix.

"Nah, I'll be fine! You're the fragile one, Sammy!" Dean retorted making Emily double over with laughter.

"Oh yeah? You won't be making jokes when you're making out with the toilet!"

Finally, the cake was in the oven, and despite all the interruptions, Emily had managed to get a basic beef stew on the stove as well.

As they waited, they played 'Fortunately-Unfortunately.' The boys had never played the game so Emily had to explain it; the gist of the game being that one person would make an unfortunate statement, and then the next person would have to counter the statement with a positive response, then the next would make a negative one until they run out of ideas.

She gave them an example, 'Fortunately I was allowed to play outside with my friends today," which she countered with 'Unfortunately we were attacked by a swarm of bees!' which in turn she countered with 'Fortunately, I had decided to wear my new honey collecting suit today!' countered by 'Unfortunately I ripped it when I fell during a game of tag!' The example's improbability had the boys in stitches and made them willing to engage in the game though Sam proclaimed it was stupid even as he settled in to play.

Of course playing hadn't been smooth sailing right out of the gate because no matter the scenario presented, Dean always went for the 'Fortunately I'm a Jedi Master, I can defeat it with my awesomeness!' statement or a variation of that.

Sam and Emily had to continuously tweak the rules to get him to participate properly. He could not be a supernatural or magical creature, he could not use a supernatural or magical weapon, he could most definitely not be a genetically improved human being and he was not bullet proof or immune to anything a normal human wasn't immune to. After a few minutes of sulking and saying they had sucked the life out of the game, he had participated enthusiastically. Obviously since they were Winchesters, and they had untamed imaginations, they had still managed to get ridiculous scenarios and solutions even without Jedis and bionic body parts thrown in the mix. The game which had began with an innocuous statement, 'Fortunately, there was hot water in the shower this morning,' had ended with 'Unfortunately, the bear was still hungry!" and no one could remember exactly how they had gotten to that point. They'd laughed so hard in the duration of the game, that their stomachs were aching.

If Sam hadn't remembered and dashed off in the middle of the game, there would have been no stew for lunch. Dean didn't care because the cake wasn't in any danger of burning since it was on a timer! Even before it cooled, he had already cut and eaten a piece of it. He approved heartily.

Amazingly, he still had space for lunch. After the meal, Sam returned to his book, Emily finally managed to paint her nails then she scribbled in her book for about twenty minutes before turning on the TV and falling asleep watching General Hospital. Dean on the other hand tinkered with his EMF reader, trying to improve its efficiency. Just because he'd decided not to start work on his car yet, didn't mean he couldn't fix something. Bored after finishing the job, he tried to annoy Sam into a reaction, but Sam refused to be moved. Dean turned his attention to his sleeping sister. Emily was a deep sleeper, but she was conversely a light napper, so Dean was mighty surprised that he had managed to draw half a moustache on her face before she woke and caught him at it. Sam disapproved of Dean's antics, but he couldn't help exploding into uncontrollable snickers, joined by Dean of course. Emily was not amused. What made her madder was the fact that Dean had used non-washable ink, and after an hour long bath, using lots of soap and nearly exfoliating her skin off, traces of the half moustache were still visible.

"Sorry, Rae, but if it's any consolation, you're still a prettier girl than Sammy!" Dean finally apologised when Emily wouldn't stop glaring at him.

Emily didn't want to laugh, she really didn't, and she almost succeeded in not doing so, but then she caught the look that Sam gave Dean. And she cracked up and couldn't stop laughing.

Without them noticing the time, dusk crept upon them finding them having an impromptu karaoke session that had started during a quickly abandoned poker game when Emily had won a hand and had cheekily began singing 'Pay me my money down' by Bruce Springsteen. Dean had started singing too, then Emily who never needed much prompting had began to play her guitar, and finally, Sam had joined in, a little self conscious at first, but quickly getting into it, especially when they transitioned into 'End of the line' by the Traveling Wilburys.

The three of wound down eventually, deciding to call it a day. A wonderful, easygoing day. As they secured the house, Dean informed his siblings that even though they were technically on holiday, they'd have drills starting the next morning. Neither one objected. Bidding Emily goodnight and getting a hearty reply, the brothers went to their room, both resisting the urge to remind her to salt her window and door.

Unfortunately, the blitheness of their day did not translate to Sam and Emily's dreams. Sam's nightmare woke him first. He sat up in his bed taking measured breaths until his heartbeat steadied. Knowing returning to sleep was out of the question at least for a while, he quietly left the room and went downstairs. In the den, without turning on any lights, he turned on the stereo keeping the volume very low and the music mellow. It had actually began lulling him to sleep when he heard the soft groan of that one creaky step that Bobby kept meaning to replace but never did.

Emily came awake with a gasp and was out of her bed and her room and at the door of her brothers' room without really registering it. Just before she burst in, logic took over. It wouldn't do to wake them over a nightmare, it certainly wasn't the first and wasn't likely to be the last. Dropping the hand that had been reaching for the door, she trudged wearily downstairs and into the den. She'd gone two steps into the room when Sam spoke.

"Bad dream?"

Emily yelped. "What the hell are you sitting in the dark for?" she asked querulously.

Sam chuckled. "For the same reason you didn't turn on the light!"

"I was going to!" she lied.

"Liar!" Sam laughed. "You're too far into the room for that to have been an intention."

Emily grumbled incoherently, shuffled further into the room, towards Sam's voice and sat down on the far end of the couch he was seated on. Neither said anything for a long time, the low music the only sound in the room, the darkness surprisingly comforting.

"How did you guess?" Emily spoke so suddenly, it made Sam jump slightly.

"Guess what?"

"That I'd had a bad dream?"

There was a beat of silence. "I had one too!"

"Oh!" was all Emily could say.

More silence followed. "You wanna talk about it?" Sam asked.

"No! Not really! You?"

"Not really!"

They settled into silence again, with Emily humming along to the music.

"Sometimes I see my dad!" she broke off her humming suddenly.

"What?" Sam startled.

"My dad. In the dreams. My dad is in a pit of fire … and he's burning, but he's not … not really, I mean he's not burning into ash or anything like that, but he's in pain ... terrible pain, and the worst part is, I can't reach him, no matter how I try. And I try, Sam, I try real hard. But I can't save him. He calls for me, begs me to save him, and I can't!" her voice hitched in distress and she paused to compose herself.

Lynyrd Skynyrd's 'Simple man' started playing; the song creating a perfect backdrop to the memories running through Emily's head. Memories of her father. He'd been a constant, gentle presence her whole life. A tear spilled down her face. She wiped it away impatiently. Another took its place, and soon a torrent of tears was flowing down her face. She cried quietly, not wanting to be comforted.

Her voice was raspy and clogged when she next spoke. "He was a good man, kind and gentle… he never hurt anyone. He couldn't even use a fly swatter! But he's being punished, being hurt! Because of me! I'm the reason he's in hell! I'm the reason he and mom died! I wish they hadn't adopted me!" she finished on a slightly plaintive wail.

"Rae …" Sam began.

Emily cut him off, "No, Sam," she began in a don't even try voice, "don't! Don't say it's not my fault. I may not have killed them, but no matter which way you slice it, I'm to blame." She took a deep breath then declared forcefully, and determinedly, the tears dried, replaced by grit. "I know I can't bring them back from the dead, but I won't stop trying to get my father out of hell ... my biological mom and grandfather too!"

Sam felt a surge of pride for her, how she refused to be broken, but he also wanted to rail against her, tell her it wasn't her fault, because it really wasn't. However, he realised she didn't need that now. He decided to focus on her other statement. "We'll help you get them out! Dean and I. We'll do everything in our power." he said feelingly.

When she spoke, there was urgency in her voice, and fear that hadn't been there before. "No! I don't want you to help!" she exclaimed.

"Rae!" Sam couldn't get any other words out. He had always thought his sister was over confident, but this was ridiculous. How could she think she could do this alone?

"Sam …" her voice shook and she took a steadying breath. "I said I see my dad sometimes, but ... but most times it's you or Dean!" Regardless of the steadying breath, Emily's voice still came out as a horrified whisper.

"Uh?"

"I see you and Dean burning." Despite her best efforts, her voice broke on the next words. "I don't want to lose you! I don't want anyone else to die because of me." This time the tears weren't silent. She had internalised the nightmares for too long! The horror and fear exploded in noisy heartfelt sobs.

In the darkness, Sam swallowed a lump and reached out for her; she drew back. Stunned, he thought back, and realised with a pang that this had started that night in Greenville when the curse Connor put on Dean had lifted. The lifting process had been scary, with Dean spasming horrifically then going deathly still. Sam remembered how terrified he and Emily had been. In retrospect he could understand why it was then that Emily's nightmares had started starring him and Dean, because it was on that hunt that she'd realised that Dean, and therefore Sam by extension, was not indestructible.

He didn't know what to do. It had been relatively easy to comfort Emily after Keith's death. The parameters then had been different; the guilt she had felt about Keith had not had time to fester and he had been a stranger. This time however, the guilt had grown into a monster of self-condemnation, and family was involved. Sam didn't know how exactly it would help her, he didn't even know why he did it, but he found himself telling her about his own guilt.

"My mom died to save me … twice! The first time I was a baby, so obviously I don't remember it, but she went up in flames again to destroy the poltergeist in our old house. She destroyed her spirit to save me."

"And Dean!" Emily hiccoughed. She knew some of what had happened that night.

"Yeah, but Dean had made it outside and only returned to get me out! He could have died because of me. My mom did, so did Jess. I am a curse."

"No you're not!" Emily dissented. Her high opinion of her brother easily surpassing her sense of guilt and emotional breakdown.

"Then I'm cursed!" Sam argued.

"You're not cursed, Sam, and no, you are not a curse either! All the bad stuff that happened was not your fault!"

A long tense silence followed the heated words. Then suddenly, Emily sniffed then chuckled a little sheepishly. "The two of us are a couple of dramatic hypocrites, aren't we?" she said.

Sam thought about her statement for a moment then laughed abashedly, "I guess we are! Okay, I promise I won't blame myself all the time, if you promise not to be unjustly hard on yourself!"

"Fair enough!"

"Great! Shake on it?"

This time, Emily laughed gaily and a hand reached out and hit Sam in the chest. He groaned theatrically and took it. They shook on their mutual promise. After the hand shake, Emily folded her legs underneath herself and wrapped her arms around herself.

Sam broke the silence this time. "Well, since you told me about your nightmares, it's only fair I tell you about mine."

"You don't have to if you don't want to!" Emily said mildly.

"I … I don't know!" There was a long moment of hesitation, then he continued, steeling himself with a deep breath. "My nightmares used to be about Jess, but now, every night, the person I watch bleeding and burning on that ceiling is you!" his voice broke a little here and he coughed to compose himself. "And I can't do anything to stop it!"

Emily's heart constricted in compassion for her brother. Unlike hers, his nightmares had basis in experienced reality. He'd actually watched his girlfriend die. His feelings of helplessness were real.

Sam didn't confess the rest, '_You look at me with eyes dulled with anguish and sorrow, and when I wake up, it takes everything I have, for me not to throw up!' _He didn't tell her how he'd dreamt about Jessica's death for weeks before it had happened. He couldn't tell her because he didn't know whether Emily featuring in his dreams now was just his mind's melodramatic way of manifesting his ever present fear for his sister's safety, or whether it was a premonition. He honestly thought it was the former, since her appearance in the dreams had only began after Bobby's call about reavers, but he wasn't so sure.

"I'm sorry about Jess. It must have been horrible." Emily said softly.

Sam closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "I miss her." he said just as quietly.

Yeah, it never went away; she missed her parents too. Probably would all her life, but maybe with a less intensity as time went by. So yes, she understood Sam's pain, and she unfurled herself and scooted closer to him. She wrapped her arms as much as she could round his larger body and lay her head on his shoulder, giving comfort even as she received it.

After almost ten minutes, she spoke. "Sam?" she sounded sleepy.

"Mmm?" he sounded even sleepier.

"We're totally going to suck at drills!"

Sam chuckled sleepily. "Yep! Dean is going to kick our asses!"


	7. Chapter 6

For the next four days they fell into an easy rhythm. Brutal morning drills were followed by breakfast with casual chatter, then they'd prepare a meal together, after which each did as he or she pleased. Dean usually worked on the impala or cleaned the weapons, while Sam and Emily either joined him, or read or talked or worked in her small garden, or cleaned. The three of them would then eat lunch together, usually in front of the TV, then they'd return to their individual activities. Dinner consisted of leftovers and was usually accompanied by lively debate, and teasing after which they played a game which usually degenerated into spirited sparring or karaoke. They'd then turn in for the night.

Their physical wounds healed, and the emotional ones began to close; the nightmares that haunted Sam and Emily slowly reduced in intensity and frequency as the two of them watched over and kept each other in check. Everything was going on swimmingly, which made the unexpected attack the more shocking.

* * *

In the gathering dusk of the fifth evening, it was a stroke of luck that Emily even noticed the slight movement to her left. Knowing there shouldn't be anyone there, she looked up and gasped involuntarily. Standing next to the copse was a huge wolf. She blinked. A wolf? Here in Sioux falls? No way! Had Dean somehow spiked her juice? But she knew she was not hallucinating or tripping, and no matter how many times she blinked and shook her head, that was a wolf. "Werewolf!" her mind supplied further. That was impossible! It was 6 pm! And even though that qualified as evening, it was a summer evening and though the light was fading, there was still enough to see by. Besides, there wasn't a full moon tonight. Didn't werewolves require one in order to change? Or was that a myth? Well, regardless of whether it was a werewolf or a normal wolf, it certainly wasn't imaginary and she needed to get on her feet. She remembered vaguely that some animals were wary of a standing human because of the projected height. Mmmm, probably not wolves, but standing, she had better chances of defending herself. She discreetly slipped off her flip flops and then stood quickly, getting into a crouch first before vaulting onto her feet, never once taking her eyes off the animal. It stood there, completely still, watching her movements.

The distance between her and the house was small but she knew she wouldn't make it if she made a run for it. She really hoped this was an ordinary wolf because the gun she had on her was loaded with regular rounds. She'd almost not even carried one, having thought it would be a quick dash to the garden and back. As she reached into her jacket for the gun, the wolf began to move, probably some natural instinct telling it how dangerous a firearm could be.

In an unnatural burst of speed it was in front of her crouching and springing. She aimed and pulled the trigger, once, twice. They were beautiful shots if she said so herself, both catching the animal square through the chest. The wolf was knocked slightly back from the blasts of the bullets, but that was all the damage the rounds did. Fuck! This was indeed a werewolf. Could life be any suckier than it was right now?

Emily dropped and rolled away but the animal still managed to complete it's attack, having only been slowed down by the bullets. Its claws glanced off her waist, taking more cloth than flesh, but enough flesh to still hurt. She sucked in a hiss of pain, and let go of her gun even though it was against everything she'd been taught by everyone who had ever trained her. It was of no use to her, anyway. Coming out of the roll as quickly as the full length gypsy shirt she was wearing could allow, she got into a defensive crouch. She quickly retrieved the punch dagger from her calf knife holster. Ornamental and pretty, it looked and felt inconsequential against such a huge animal, but it was the only silver she had.

Panting, she tensed for the next attack. She knew her brothers had to have heard the shots, and if she could hold off the wolf long enough, maybe she would survive this attack. As if sensing the significance of the knife, the wolf growled, the sound making Emily's toes curl, then it launched itself off the ground. Emily anticipated the move accurately, but without bullets impeding it's movement, the creature was faster this time. Emily grunted as her side took a much harder and deeper hit from the wolf's claws and she grunted again as her roll put the wounds in contact with the ground. She wasn't fast enough this time because even as she got out of the roll, the wolf was already springing. The only thought in her head was not to let its teeth anywhere near her throat. She only had time to throw up her left arm in defence. Her head hit the ground, the flash of pain travelling to the base of her neck. The wolf's teeth bit down on her arm, all the way to the bone, it's jaw crushing the bone. Emily's cry of pain rent the air. The wolf shook her. She tried to hold in the second cry but failed. The pain threatened to take her under, the tears that filled her eyes and flowed over her cheeks blinded her. Nausea roiled through her, and she fought it down, because pinned as she was, chances of chocking on her own vomit were high. And that was not a very dignified way to go. Black spots began to gather in front of her eyes. She dimly heard the sounds of gunshots, and dully wondered whether there were more wolves and whether her brothers were fine.

With sheer force, she blinked away the larger dark spots and drew up her right hand. She was grateful it hadn't been pinned by the wolf. She knew squat about the anatomy of a wolf, but as the animal crushed her, it's eyes gleaming with murderous intent, she felt its heart beat. To improve the strike, she had to push back the wolf with her injured left arm, the pain of the movement almost making her pass out. Then she buried the dagger in the animal's chest, it's blood leaking past the blade, and onto her chest, the metallic smell making her gag.

The wolf raised its head and howled. The sound drowning out Emily's own slowly weakening sobs of anguish. The bite had been agony, but as the wolf brought its head up to bay its dying howl, it had torn up her arm, and the pain was excruciating. The wolf morphed into a naked man as it died. Emily's last, remarkably lighthearted thought before the darkness mercifully claimed her was, "Kinky!"

When the shit hit the fan, each brother thought Emily was with the other. The three had spent most of the morning sparring and training then after having showers and lunch, each had drifted to different activities. Sam had settled down with a book in the study and his siblings after teasing him about becoming pasty had gone outside. Dean to continue with his car repairs, which entailed sanding the roof, and Emily with her guitar and a book. She'd settled herself by her adopted tree where she had alternated between scribbling in her book and plucking her guitar. At about 4 pm she'd gone into the house and returned with two beers, a soda, two packets of chips and Sam. The three of them had sat on the porch with their drinks, and Emily and Sam had hounded Dean about why he didn't spray orange flames or some such nonsense on the impala. He'd called them idiots of course. He'd never desecrate his baby like that. After an hour or so, Emily and Sam had gone back indoors. And Dean had returned to his sanding.

When they'd gone inside the house, Emily and Sam had sat down to watch a documentary, but when it ended, she'd decided to forego the next one. She'd wandered from the den and into the kitchen looking for something to eat, then she'd been hit with a sudden compulsion to cook. It would be a late meal, but she and her brothers did not exactly have a proper mealtime timetable. Looking through the cupboards, she'd decided to make jumbo since the kitchen held nearly all the ingredients. The only thing missing was tomatoes, and those she could get from her garden that Bobby, despite his complete lack of a green thumb, had somehow managed to maintain in her absence. She'd slipped through the kitchen door.

When she'd left the den, Sam had assumed she'd gone outside to keep Dean company.

In the meantime, content with the progress he'd made, Dean wiped his hands on his jeans, locked the impala and walked up the stairs to the porch. A metallic thump made him whip around. When he saw the wolf on top of the tottering pile of junk cars, his heart beat wildly, not in fear, but in hot anger and irritation. This was their downtime and their home, it wasn't fair for work to follow them here. Raised a hunter, Dean didn't even consider the possibility that the wolf might not be a werewolf. He ripped the front door open and practically flung himself inside, before slamming it shut.

Sam knew something was wrong even before he heard Dean yell.

Remembering the recent depletion of their own arsenal, Dean called urgently, "Sam! Get down to the armoury, see if Bobby's got any silver bullets! Rae, get your ass down to the panic room and don't you dare give me lip, I'm only asking because we might not have enough ammunition to go around."

While Sam raced downstairs to the armoury, Dean took the stairs to their room to get their guns and flashlights. The brothers met in the study. Sam had found four bullets, making their total haul five.

"What is it?" he asked Dean as he handed him three of the bullets.

"A wolf. Quite likely a were!"

"That's imp …" The sound of gunshots cut him off. The brothers exchanged looks. "Who's that?" Sam wondered.

"The hell would I know, let's go." Dean said curtly. Sam knew his brother's anger was not directed at him.

They turned the lights off, so that by the time they'd get to the door, their eyes would be accustomed to the light of the flashlights. Dean slowly eased the door open, his body strumming with adrenaline. He quickly whipped his light over the car tower where he'd last seen the wolf. It was gone. He stepped out carefully, Sam following closely.

An anguished scream tore the silence, followed nearly immediately by a second less loud one. "Rae!" both brothers whispered in horror. Neither had ever heard their sister scream like that, and each one's heart threatened to burst through his chest.

They didn't have time to dwell on that though, because movement from both sides of the porch and from the roof drew their attention. They turned fluidly and seamlessly, Dean to the left, Sam to the right. Back to back, they aimed and fired. Two wolves hit the deck without reaching their marks.

Dean knew that trying to change direction and pivot left would waste precious time, and possibly throw him off centre, so he let his momentum continue to carry him right. He quickly shoved Sam out of the way, and continued moving until he was in a suitable position. He planted his feet, and adopted a slight crouch because the animal already in mid leap was by then too close. He drew his arm slightly towards his body, aimed and fired.

Carried by its momentum, the dying wolf landed on Dean. He hit his head on the deck, the impact making him see stars which he closed his eyes against.

"Dean?" Sam called. His voice filled with urgency and fear.

"Get it off me!" Dean groaned, not bothering to move. His brother's breathy but cheeky, "Don't you mean him!" comment made him snap his eyes open. Sprawled on top of him was a naked man. "Fuck!" Dean grumbled as he shoved the man off and staggered to his feet.

"You need a room for that!" Sam quipped. Dean glared at him. He bent his knees and rested his hands on them for a moment. "You okay?" Sam asked, concern stealing his witticism away.

Dean nodded. "Just winded." He was glad to see that despite his teasing voice, Sam was still vigilant, his gun held loosely, his eyes scanning their surroundings.

As soon as Dean got his bearings and straightened up, they raced to the side of the house where they'd heard Emily's screams come from. Neither wanted to dwell on the implications of the silence that had followed.

Their steps faltered when they saw the bodies on the ground. "Please God!" Dean breathed, the short prayer desperate and heartfelt. They covered the distance in a mad dash.

With a low growl, Dean tore the dead man away from Emily while Sam crashed onto his knees by her side, and shone his flashlight down. He was elated when he found a faint pulse, but his heart stuttered in horror when he saw Emily's arm.

"Is she …" Dean's voice caught. He couldn't finish the question. He didn't want to ask, but in his heart of hearts he knew that their beautiful, spunky, vivacious sister was no more. It killed him that she had died, alone and scared in the dirt. How could he have let this happen? He was her big brother. He was supposed to protect her.

Sam thinking that Dean was asking whether Emily had been bitten said yes.

"No!" Dean's cry was filled with sorrow and anger. He hit the ground on his knees, grabbed Emily and cradled her. "Oh God, Mimi, I'm so sorry! I'm so sorry!" he whispered, his tears soaking her hair.

Sam swallowed the panic he felt. He'd figuratively found himself captaining a massive ship whose formidable captain, a man who never relinquished control to anyone, had suddenly handed it to him. Dean could always be counted on to function in a crisis, especially when it involved his siblings. If he ever fell apart, he did so in private. Well, not today. He had uncharacteristically broken down. So now it was up to Sam to handle the situation. He was worried about Emily bleeding to death, and the likelihood of there being more wolves; it was unprecedented but so was werewolves attacking at this time without a full moon in sight.

To solve the most immediate problem, Sam used his shirt and Dean's flashlight to apply a tourniquet to Emily's arm. It'd stop the bleeding and hopefully keep the venom from spreading.

Next he needed to get himself, Dean and Emily back into the house, and into the panic room, because while the house was heavily protected and warded, the panic room was completely supernatural proof, so they wouldn't get any nasty surprises down there. He hoped Dean would have snapped out of it by then, so he could help patch up Emily. Then there was also the issue of the four dead werewolves who were now four dead naked men. But as those were not going anywhere that wasn't an urgent concern. Throughout his hunting career, if he could call it that, Sam had never had such uncharitable thoughts before, but at the moment, he just couldn't find it in him to feel compassion for anyone who had tried to kill his sister, no matter whether they had been themselves or not. Maybe he'd feel differently later. Right now, he needed to get Dean moving.

"Dean? Dean, we need to clean out the wound with holy water." Sam's voice was thick with unshed tears, but he spoke calmly even though he felt far from calm. He knew the holy water probably wouldn't stop the werewolf scourge on Emily, but it was the only thing he could think of at the moment.

Sam's words filtered slowly into Dean's mind, and when they did, he thought Sam had lost it. Clean out the wound? Why bother, when she was already dead? "It doesn't matter, Sammy," he said sadly, "she's …" He couldn't say gone. That would make it real. He refused to acknowledge it.

Sam couldn't believe Dean would condemn their sister just because she'd been bitten by a werewolf. "Jesus, Dean! She's still our sister! She's still Rae!" he exclaimed in horror. At least for now anyway, his mind added. "Come on Dean, let's go!"

"Fine!" Dean said dully, his brother's intense insistence the only reason he was complying.

As Dean shifted to get up, Emily groaned. Consciousness returning but quickly beaten back by the pain radiating from her arm and side. That sound was the sweetest thing Dean had ever heard.

"Did you hear that? Sam, she's alive!" Dean's voice was filled with awe and joy.

"I know! Wait … what? You thought she was … shit, Dean!" Sam exclaimed. Dean had thought Emily was dead? That certainly explained his behaviour and comments.

Dean reacted with the urgency and efficiency that Sam had until then been unable to produce in him. He lifted Emily as gently as he could. "Get the guns, Sam, Rae's too. Come on, let's go. And why the hell did you say yes?"

"I thought you were asking if she was bitten!" Sam hassled after Dean, lighting their way with the flashlight and keeping his gun at the ready in case there was another attack. "You know what that means, right?"

"Well, those things weren't exactly held back by the lack of a full moon, so it's possible the other myths are wrong too." Dean tried to convince both himself and his brother. "Besides, this is our sister, so true or not, all that myth stuff means shit!" he added hotly. Sam was relieved to hear that. Still, he couldn't help but worry about the possibility of Emily being infected.

They entered the house with sighs of relief, which quickly turned into gasps of horror when they saw Emily's injuries in proper light.

"Fuck!" Dean exclaimed as he laid her on the floor.

"This is bad!" Sam whispered.

The claw wounds in Emily's side were relatively manageable; the slashes though deep, would basically just need proper, careful irrigation, stitching and dressing. However, her arm was a different story. Practically mangled, it was way beyond their skill levels. She needed a hospital, but first, they needed to cleanse the bite wound with holy water and pray that was enough. While Sam prepared a basin of holy water, Dean made to loosen the tourniquet but Sam saw him and yelled, "Stop!" in a panicked voice.

"Sam, the bleeding has stopped and her fingers are turning blue. She'll lose her arm!"

"We'll loosen it after the cleansing."

Dean immediately understood Sam's concern and held back. Sam restarted the blessing of the water again since he'd abandoned the process to stop Dean. As he waited, Dean run a hand through Emily's hair and prayed for a miracle. Praying was Sam's thing not Dean's and he wasn't sure he was doing it right, but for his siblings, he'd do anything, even pray to a God he believed in, despite what everyone thought, but one he didn't love.

Sam was already carrying the basin of water over to his siblings even as Dean said Amen.

"Grab a jug or something." Dean ordered as he fished the rosary out of the basin of now the Holy Water. Sam quickly did as he was told, handing the jug to Dean and then bracing Emily's arm under his hands. The brothers glanced briefly at each other, then took steadying breaths. Dean poured three jugs onto the wound before it stopped fizzing. He poured three more just to be sure. When the first jugful of water had cascaded onto her arm, Emily had briefly stirred and whimpered pitifully before losing consciousness again.

"Do you think that will stop it?" Sam asked as Dean finally loosened the tourniquet.

"I don't know!" Dean said truthfully. "But for now, the supernatural issues can wait. She needs a doctor. We've gotta go."

Sam carried Emily to the car while Dean, marginally the better shot, covered them. Once securely in the car, Dean squealed out of the yard.

In the back seat, Sam sat with Emily's head cradled on his lap and prayed just as desperately as Dean had before. He couldn't see Emily's face, as it had become too dark for that, but her breathing though impossibly slow and shallow reassured him that she was still alive.

"Sam?" Dean's voice startled him. "Call dad and Bobby and tell them what happened."

"I don't have my phone!"

One handed, Dean reached into the glove box for his back up phone because he too had left his main phone at the house. He handed it to Sam.

Sam called Bobby first, spoke for about ten breathless seconds, listened for a beat and spoke again, more calmly, with more detail. After listening for another moment, he hang up. "He'll be here in five hours give or take," Sam reported to Dean, even as he dialled John's number.

Dean heard the silence and knew the call had gone to voicemail and that Sam was listening to the automated message. "Dad, if you get this, can you call us back? Rae is hurt real bad." He hang up. "Voicemail!" he informed Dean unnecessarily.

Dean sighed wearily and drove on.

Two minutes later, Sam's panicked voice shattered the uneasy silence in the car. "Dean, she's fading!" Emily's breaths were becoming more ragged, more laboured, fewer between and further apart. Sam desperately squeezed her hand, trying to infuse his life into her. Dean didn't think he could drive any faster, but he did.

The huge black car squealed to a stop in front of the hospital four minutes later.


	8. Chapter 7

Dean burst through the doors, holding them open so Sam wouldn't be encumbered. Within seconds, there was a gurney in front of the trio, and Emily was being tagged out of Sam's arms.

"What happened?" the triage nurse who seemed to have materialised out of thin air asked as she took and recorded Emily's vitals. The matronly woman worked with a swiftness and an economy of movement that belied her appearance.

"We … we were out for a walk, and got attacked by a dog! There were three of us, but for some reason it went straight for her! We fought it off and we … oh god, it was so big and it had latched on and wouldn't let go! And there was so much blood and she screamed like she was d … and then she stopped and … Is she going to be okay?" Dean stammered, his words colliding into each other in a breathless way, before trailing off in a warbled panicky plaintive plea. Sam knew the terrified inarticulateness was an act, but the fact that Dean looked shellshocked and traumatised wasn't. Sam was sure that he looked the same way too. He certainly felt that way.

"She's a category three! Page Dr. Mehta, and Dr. Bluth and clear an O.R. immediately. She's in extreme shock." the nurse whispered urgently to one of her colleagues, and suddenly the gurney was being bustled away. The brothers strode after it.

Seeing them following, the nurse asked them, "Who is she?"

"Her name is Emily. She's our sister." Sam answered.

"How old is she?"

"Nineteen. Well, almost nineteen. Her birthday's in a month!" Dean sounded anguished knowing that the odds of Emily making it to her birthday were now low.

The nurse's eyes narrowed suspiciously. The injured girl looked younger than nineteen. The nurse had been pretty sure she was dealing with a minor. She knew some siblings, especially those who'd been raised in foster care or raised to be wary of child services, hiked their own ages and if they were old enough and didn't need to lie about their age, they raised the ages of their minor siblings so they wouldn't draw the attention of Child Protection Services. There was a cautiousness and fierce protectiveness about this girl's brothers that gave testimony to this. The nurse decided not to pursue the issue any further, at least not now.

"Blood group?" she asked instead.

"AB."

"Is she allergic to anything?"

"No."

"Did you perform any first aid?"

"We applied a tourniquet." Dean said in a duh voice. Sam resisted the urge to smack him for being disrespectful.

Well, that much the nurse could see. She rolled her eyes and fought the urge to smile at his testiness. The tourniquet was crude, but had been applied correctly and had evidently been effective. And they had even loosened it when the bleeding had slowed down. Obviously these boys were self sufficient.

"Do you know what breed of dog it was?" she asked. It wasn't really a relevant question, but it was listed.

Dean's mouth fell open. "No! It was dark and we were trying to save our sister. We didn't exactly have time to check the animal for identifying features! What does it matter anyway?" Dean answered, his impatience obvious. This time Sam thought his brother's impudence was completely justified.

Realising that the only reason the men were still behaving civilly was because they didn't want to jeopardise their sister's care, the nurse spoke quickly. "If we know the breed, we can determine how deep the damage goes. Besides, Animal Control will want to know."

"Screw Animal control. All we're concerned about is Emily!" Dean growled. "The damage to her arm pretty much speaks for itself, I don't think you need a dog to make teeth moulds and compare dental impressions!"

The nurse had never been so happy to see the doors that led to the trauma department. The brothers made to follow their sister beyond the doors, but the nurse gently but firmly held them back. "Sorry, but you cant go beyond this point. We're going to need you to stay behind and provide us with more information."

"Hey, listen! It's critical that the ring she's wearing isn't taken off! Please! Tape it or something, but don't take it off!" Dean yelled after the disappearing group.

"I'll relay that to the attending!" the nurse hollered back, unable to ignore such an impassioned appeal, even though it was rather unusual. But she took it in stride because it wasn't the weirdest or most unreasonable request she'd heard in her years as a nurse.

Then the doors closed behind her. Sam and Dean stared through the glass until the gurney carrying their sister disappeared from their sight. They finally turned to find a tiny nurse hovering timidly with a sheaf of papers and instructions to wait until there was news. They could understand the woman's reservations, after all, they were two huge men, bloodied and wild-eyed. They took the papers and found seats in the crowded emergency room. Sam began to fill in the documents, his hand shaking badly. Dean stared unseeingly into the distance.

"I thought she was with you!" Sam finally croaked out.

"I've got to go move the car." Dean said in a flat voice, standing up. "If you're not sure about anything, leave it blank, I'll fill it in." with that he strode away.

Sam briefly closed his eyes, and willed away the tears that were suddenly threatening to fall. He couldn't help feeling this was all his fault. He should have kept an eye on Emily. He should have realised she'd not joined Dean when she'd left the study. And he knew Dean blamed him too. His brother was always quick to assure him he wasn't at fault, but not today.

Dean returned five minutes later and sat down next to his brother. Sam handed over the papers even though Dean hadn't asked for them. Because he was the better bullshitter of the two, Dean usually did the paperwork at hospitals, filling them with half-truths and downright lies. He'd let Sam do it this time, a baptism of fire sort of thing, and trusted him enough not to check over his work. However, it seemed Sam wasn't yet confident of his ability, which was weird because he'd handled things expertly when Dean had been electrocuted.

Dean perused through the papers quickly, approving of the information Sam had put down. He handed them back and Sam went to the desk to return them to the timid nurse. He must have said something funny because she trilled a laugh and waved him away fondly. Dean idly wondered what that had been about. However, he didn't ask when Sam returned and took his seat again. The brothers sat in silence once more, each lost in his thoughts.

Sam broke the silence half an hour later. "Look, I'm sorry. I know I should have looked out for her!" he spoke, the guilt weighing unbearably on him.

Dean sighed. Emotionally, he was all tapped out, he was practically flagging, but his brother needed him and he had to dig deep to look for the right words to comfort Sam. However, before he could speak, the back up phone still in Sam's possession rang. Both of them startled, having since forgotten about it. Retrieving it from the pocket he'd stashed it in, Sam looked at the screen, "It's Dad." Dean took the phone from him and hurried outside.

John was in Georgia. As he had been in the company of Gordon Walker, a hunter he didn't really trust outside of hunting, he'd let the call from Dean's backup phone go to voicemail. It was almost three hours before he got a chance to check his messages. His heart stuttered when he heard the message Sam had left. The unveiled fear in his son's voice scared John even more. Sam was passionate, and given to strong emotions, but like the Winchester he was, he rarely showed fear.

Questions raced through John's mind. Only a week had passed since he'd last seen his children. What the hell could have happened? They'd been heading to Bobby's, hadn't they? Had they stumbled upon a hunt? Had they been ambushed? Were his boys hurt too and only downplaying their injuries like they were wont to? He didn't know how badly Emily was hurt, but the fear in Sam's voice didn't exactly spell good news. John wanted to rail at God. It wasn't fair! Hadn't he lost enough already? His wife? His easygoing, uncomplicated lifestyle? The trust of his sons? Now he was going to lose his only daughter too? A child he had only just found! It wasn't fair! But then again, when had anything in his life been fair? It was like someone or something out there wanted to see how much he could endure before he broke. Well, tough luck, because he wasn't going to break, not any time soon. He was made of sterner stuff. He'd watched his wife die, unable to save her, and the sorrow he'd felt had almost taken him under, but he'd weathered through and raised his sons. Granted, he hadn't done the best of jobs, but it was mostly because of him that his boys were alive, and able to look after themselves.

He hadn't raised his daughter, he hadn't had any impact on her upbringing, but he knew she was strong. She had his blood in her veins after all. She was a Winchester, and Winchesters were damn scrappers. Stubborn and resilient, they never gave up, even when the odds weren't in their favour. So he knew Emily would fight to stay alive. She'd give it her all to survive. And her brothers would fiercely fight right along with her. The three of them would be fine without him. But he had promised himself he would be a better parent, and surely, his sons wouldn't have called him if the situation wasn't dire.

With his heart still beating unevenly, he called Dean's phone. Hearing the automated message, he hang up and tried Sam's phone. He got voicemail again and this time, he growled in frustration at the automated message. Now he had an inkling of how his sons felt when they called him and got his voicemail all the time. He'd appreciate the irony if he wasn't so worried. As he began to feel the stirrings of real unadulterated panic, he realised the boys had used their backup phone to call him in the first place. He placed the call to that phone and was relieved when Dean answered.

"Dean? What happened?" he asked without preamble.

"Rae got bitten."

"What? Is she okay?"

"It's bad, dad … she's in surgery. Eerr, dad, it was a werewolf." Even though he was outside, Dean still whispered the last part, in case there was an eavesdropper. The last thing they needed was to be thrown into a psych ward.

"That's not possible Dean! The full moon isn't until two weeks!"

Dean, who was tired, worried and slightly hungry, spoke more impertinently than planned. "No offence dad, we shot wolves, but I'm pretty certain they died as men. So screw your full moon theory!"

John was stunned into a temporary silence by Dean's words and tone. "Is she exhibiting any signs?" he finally recovered and asked. He didn't know what he'd do if his daughter turned into one of the creatures he hunted. It was strange that as a hunter, it was a scenario he'd never imagined, not even for his sons.

"She's not magically healing if that's what you're asking. That's why she's in surgery!" Dean bit out. "Uhh, Sam put a tourniquet in place, and we cleaned out the wound with holy water."

"Think that stopped it?" John asked anxiously.

Dean sighed. It was him, not John who should be seeking reassurance. After all, John was the parent. "I don't know, dad. Maybe. We called Bobby. He's likely to know." Dean answered wearily. He was more than ready for the world to be lifted off his shoulders.

John felt a jolt of unwarranted jealousy hearing his son mention Bobby, but he tamped down on the useless emotion. Bobby was one of the most knowledgeable hunters out there, and he had one of the most extensive collection of books about religion, the occult and anything supernatural. John told himself that those were the reasons Dean wanted Bobby there. It wasn't because Bobby was a better father to them than John had ever been. "I'll be there as soon as I can," he promised. Depending on what route he used, the trip would take between nineteen to twenty-one hours.

"Sure dad. See you." Dean hang up, briefly rubbed his temples, and slumped against the wall. After a minute or so, he squared his shoulders and went back inside the hospital.

"So?" Sam asked when his brother walked up to him.

"He will be here as soon as he can."

"Where's he heading out from?" Sam was sceptic. Their father had a knack of putting them second after a hunt. Sam wasn't going to hold his breath for the man's arrival. As far as he was concerned, when it came to John, expectation always led to disappointment.

"He didn't say, and I didn't ask." Dean shrugged. Then he nodded towards the vending machine. "Want anything?" Sam shook his head. Dean got himself a coffee. He didn't think he'd be able to stomach anything else, even though he was hungry. He drank the coffee by the machine, finishing it in two swallows, then with a tense almost angry motion, he crumpled the cup before flicking it into a trashcan. Then he walked back and sat next to his brother.

He knew he had left Sam hanging for too long so this time he didn't let the silence grow. "Sammy, it wasn't your fault!" he spoke quietly.

Sam smiled grimly. This was the reassurance he'd wanted from Dean, but it sounded hollow. Like Dean had realised what Sam needed to hear and had said it automatically without really meaning it. Well, Sam was now an adult and he knew he had to take responsibility for his failures. "Yes, Dean, it was my fault. She was with me. And when she left the study, I simply assumed she was coming outside to hang out with you, but I should have asked her where she was going or gone with her."

"Hey man, you couldn't have known! Besides, we were at Bobby's, we all let our guards down a little, thankfully not completely, or else Rae would be dead. I still can't believe she took down that thing with just that knife!" Dean briefly allowed awe at his sister's indomitability to prevail over his current fear for her life.

"She still got bit!" No matter how he tried, Sam couldn't find the silver lining in the moment.

Immediately, Dean's awe changed into sad grimness. He heaved a put on sigh and continued. "Yeah, well, even if we hadn't let down our guards, there's no way we could have seen this shit coming! There's no full moon and Sioux Falls is hardly a breeding ground for wolves let alone werewolves. Even leaving out the fact that we haven't heard of any other attacks, until ours, this was just uncharacteristic. Besides, as much as we'd like to, we can't shadow Rae every single second of every day. For one, she'd never let us, and two it's just not possible. No matter how I look at it, I don't see how this is your fault."

"It wasn't your fault either." Sam told Dean knowing that even though he'd absolved Sam, he'd still blame himself.

Once again, the brothers lapsed into silence.

* * *

By the time Sam, his voice breathy and only a few decibels short of hysterical, had called, Bobby had been in La Crosse, Wisconsin way longer than he'd intended. Getting information out of the locals was like pulling teeth cased in concrete and he was getting frustrated. Still, he was willing to see the hunt through. Well he was, until Sam called, sounding scared, frantic and much younger than his 22 years. Bobby soon understood why. A frisson of fear and despair speared his own heart at the news, but he reassured the second youngest Winchester and promised to be there in five hours. He knew he could make it in four if he left immediately, but it was his duty before he left to make sure that someone would take over his hunt. When he hang up, he made a number of calls until he got Rita Reswick, a competent enough hunter, to promise to come down and finish the hunt in La Crosse. Then he began his journey home.


	9. Chapter 8

"What the hell is taking so long?" Dean finally exploded after three hours of waiting.

Sam was surprised his brother had kept his cool this long. Though an unwelcome distraction, the animal control guy that had come to interview them had nevertheless taken their minds off Emily for those fifteen minutes he'd been with them. They had been rather obnoxious. Finding the man's questions irrelevant, impertinent and annoying, they'd given short, curt and increasingly insolent answers. The man had finally huffed in exasperation and left.

Sam shrugged, unaffected by his brother's show of temper, knowing it was due to frustration and wasn't directed at him or anyone in particular. "You saw her arm, Dean. That wasn't a cleanse and suture kind of wound." he spoke reasonably.

"I know, but still!" Dean barked out. Then he took a deep breath, let it out slowly and spoke dolefully. " Sam, for all we know she's dead or dying. I hate not knowing!"

"Me too" Sam admitted with a sigh. "But in this case, no news is good news. It means she's still alive. She's still fighting."

"Yeah well, waiting is a bitch!" Dean grumbled wryly.

"Don't I know it!" Sam managed a chuckle despite the lead lodged in his heart.

After that, Dean became more fidgety than he'd been, playing a nervous tattoo on his thighs, humming distractedly, then standing up and pacing, only returning when the need to be in close proximity with his brother overpowered his agitation.

Twenty minutes of this and Sam was about ready to dropkick his brother.

"Masterson?"

Sam looked up to see two doctors standing near the nurses' station. The female doctor was clearly of Indian descent. She was small, and pretty, with delicate features in a heart shaped face. The male doctor was a burly man with hair that was more orange than red and freckles all over his face. Sam could only imagine how miserable the man's school days had been. "Dean? That's us!" he called his brother who had veered away during his pacing. They walked to where the doctors were standing.

The female spoke, her words clipped and precise. "I'm Dr. Mehta, and this is Dr. Bluth. We are your sister's doctors."

"I'm Sam and this is my brother Dean." They shook hands with the doctors.

"Dr. Mehta is an orthopaedic surgeon. She's one of the best." Dr. Bluth's crush on his coworker was hard to miss.

Ignoring her colleague's praise, Dr. Mehta launched into her idea of a condensed, lay man language version of the procedures they had carried out to save Emily's life and arm, though the arm was not expected to regain full normal functionality. Sam tried to follow what was being said, but Dean immediately switched off. His eyes glazed over and he had that faraway look that was typical of a person that was only waiting for their chance to speak. Indeed as soon as the woman finished her exposition, he asked, "Can we see her?"

"Of course! But she's out of it so it really won't make much difference." the curt doctor said already turning away. She was definitely a proponent for the 'people in comas hear nothing' theory.

Sam elbowed Dean when he saw him preparing to snark back. Dean glared at his brother, but he closed his mouth and with an eye roll followed the doctors.

Like Dr. Mehta had said, Emily was out of it. Though stable, she was drugged to the gills. A tetanus booster and a rabies vaccine had already been administered by injection, and morphine had been introduced through an IV after the anaesthesia had worn off. She had received two and a half units of blood and several litres of isotonic crystalloid. She was also receiving intravenous antibiotics to combat infection.

Her arm had an external fixator attached, the surgical rig looking more ominous than it really was. Also, since primary closure of the wound was out of the question, given the severity of the injury, it had been lightly packed with damp saline gauze and covered with a dry dressing. The packing and the dressing had to be changed whenever the outer dressing became damp with blood or anything else. The brothers were allowed to stay as long as they got out of the nurses' way during the changing of the dressing. The boys were more than willing to oblige. The wound would be closed in two or three days after the doctors were satisfied there was no risk of infection.

A cute nurse, with eyes mostly for Sam gave them scrub shirts so they could get out of their bloody clothes. Dean idly wondered what it was about Sam that made women want to 'mother' him. He was a hulking giant for heaven's sake, these women should be treating him like a fucking Viking warrior who could protect them! Or snap them in two! Dean supposed it was Sam's damn puppy eyes. Too bad Dean didn't have a pair of those, and he currently wasn't inclined to flash his charming smile.

In the next hour and a half, Emily semi-woke twice, both times cussing creatively, but making no sense otherwise. Still, despite all the muddled nonsense she sprouted, her brothers couldn't be happier. Delirious was better than dead, on any given day.

* * *

Even though he badly wanted to, Bobby did not drive to the hospital. Instead he drove to his salvage yard. He knew from Sam's call that the brothers hadn't gotten a chance to clean up, and despite being out of the way, the yard still managed to get visitors occasionally. It wouldn't do for someone to show up and find dead bodies littering his property. That was a sure way to get locked up for life.

He turned his headlights off at the gate to the yard; he didn't want to alert anyone or anything that might be sniffing around. Rumsfeld whimpered and scratched at the car's door handle, and when Bobby opened the door, the dog took off to the side of the house. Bobby armed himself and followed his dog more cautiously. Rumsfeld was pawing the ground about a metre away from a dead man. Immediately Bobby knew what had agitated the dog; Rumsfeld could smell Emily. That was where she had fallen, where her blood had soaked into the earth. Since Rumsfeld wasn't acting hyperaware, Bobby knew there was no imminent threat. He turned and shone his light at the dead man.

It shook Bobby to see that the man's mouth slackened in death had blood and bits of flesh in it. That was Emily's blood, her flesh. Any doubts that Bobby had been entertaining about the attack having been carried out by werewolves, vanished at the sickening sight of the man's mouth.

If Bobby had to hazard a guess, he'd say this guy was not older than thirty five. He had been in great shape, had probably worked out twice or thrice a week, nothing excessive but enough to give enviable muscle definition. He was tall too. Bobby could just imagine how huge and powerful he'd been as a wolf. And to think he'd been taken down by a girl with a dagger. A dagger that was even now still buried in his chest. Wrinkling his face in distaste, Bobby pulled out the dagger, wiped it on the grass and tucked it in his belt. He said a prayer for the man's soul, because that is what he was now, a man, not a beast.

Picking up Emily's discarded flip flops, Bobby called Rumsfeld to him. During the call Sam had said there had been four wolves. Bobby wondered where the other three had fallen. He had no doubt that they were dead. They couldn't have gone against the Winchesters and made it out alive. He found them on the porch. Silver bullets to the hearts, one each. No wasted bullets, no drawn out death for the unfortunate men. Bobby took a moment to appreciate the excellent marksmanship of John's boys.

Looking at the three men, and with the fourth one's features still fresh in his mind, Bobby easily deduced the men were related. Most likely brothers, given how close the resemblance was. He bowed his head in sorrow and said a prayer for these three as well. Then he headed into the house. He dropped Emily's footwear beside the door and went upstairs, where he grabbed two pairs of bedsheets. Returning to the porch, he wrapped the bodies in the bedsheets then carried them one at a time down the few stairs. In his ramshackle idea of a garage, he located his battered mechanic's creeper tied a rope to it and used it to relocate the three bodies to where the fourth had fallen. He wrapped up the fourth as well. "I'm too old for this insanity!" he grumbled to himself as he worked, shucking off his jacket and outer shirt as he perspired in exertion. It really was a job for more than one person, but Bobby didn't dare call anyone. Most hunters were black and white sorts, and after helping him get rid of the bodies, they'd be storming the hospital to kill Emily. Even though he knew the chances that Emily was now infected were high, he knew he would never kill her, unless he witnessed her transformation, and even then, he didn't know whether he could. So he worked alone, grumbling and cussing.

Building a pyre, he gave the four unknown men a hunter's funeral. Even though they weren't hunters, they deserved respect. They had been someone's sons, and might even be husbands and fathers. Besides, he doubted they'd signed up to become werewolves. He watched until the fire burnt out, thinking morbidly how he too would one day be consumed by fire like that.

When it was done, he went into the house through the kitchen. There were two basins, a jug and a rosary on the floor. One of the basins had bloody water, the other which was nearly empty had clear water. Bobby smiled grimly. Holy water! The boys could be counted on to keep level heads in a crisis.

He cleaned up the kitchen then went upstairs and had a quick shower to get rid of the sweat and smoke, and blood. He left out food for Rumsfeld, grabbed a huge tome from his library, got in his car and drove to the hospital.

* * *

John parked half a block from Missouri's house and heaved a heavy sigh before stepping out of his truck. When he'd ended the call to Dean, he'd briefly wondered whether his son had finally cracked because of the lifestyle that had been foisted upon him. However, John knew if Dean was to crack, it wouldn't be in such a fashion. So John had packed up his meagre belongings, gotten into his truck and stolen away. His chosen route had taken him through Kansas but it was on a whim and not a premeditated judgement that he'd decided to stop at Missouri's. He needed to know whether what Dean had told him was possible. Despite not being a hunter, Missouri knew as much, or even more, than most hunters. If what Dean said was true, then Missouri might know.

The door was flung open as he reached it. He threw his hands up in a dramatic show of defeat. No matter how he tried, he could never surprise Missouri.

"John!" the woman bear hugged him grinning at his consternation.

He bent slightly and hugged her back just as enthusiastically. It was hard not to love Missouri Moseley. She was one of the very few people John had let into his heart. He even thought of her as the sister he'd never had. He'd never told her that of course, though he figured with her clair-gift she knew. She was kind, sweet, and soft, almost cuddly, but she didn't take any nonsense and refused to suffer fools gladly. When she got angry, she could somehow make her melodic voice sound even scarier than his most intimidating growl. It was an unbelievable talent, one he respected immensely. However, more often than not, she play acted at being angry and stern, and her inclination to wave a wooden spoon like it was a weapon amused him more than it intimidated him.

She drew back from the hug with a slight frown. "Oh John, I'm so sorry!" she empathised. "Come in and wait as I pack."

"What? No! I just wanted to ask you something and leave!"

"I know what you wanted to ask. And the answer is yes. Verumnat don't need a full moon to change. Dean hasn't lost it. That's what bit your daughter."

"Verumnat? What the hell are those?"

"Language, John!" she castigated before continuing. "Verumnat when directly translated from Latin means true born. As you know, werewolves are created by transference of the lycanthrope curse. However, not all werewolves are created this way. There are werewolves that were born as werewolves. These are the verumnat. In appearance, they're just like the others, only they don't have the same lunar limitations and can change form at will. The good news is that they are just as susceptible to silver as their counterparts."

"What? Why is this the first I'm hearing of this?"

"Because it's extremely rare! In fact, most people think it's impossible. First of all, the chances of two werewolves meeting and mating are not as high as you'd think with there being very few of them, since they've been hunted into near extinction. Secondly, as a species, werewolves are pretty much sterile, and even if they weren't, werewolf physiology because of the unnatural circumstances of their creation, can't sustain pregnancy, let alone childbirth. But as you know, the world is full of impossibilities! Verumnat are living werewolf impossibilities."

John considered that for a while then asked the burning question. "Okay, where does that leave Emily?"

"She was bitten, but there's still time to prevent the change. Let me go pack a few things and we'll leave."

"Missouri, you don't have to. I'm sure Bobby will know what to do." John said, not because he doubted Missouri's prowess, but because he was now impatient to be on his way. Missouri was not known for hurrying and he was worried she'd take hours packing.

"You great lout! I can pack fast!" the woman exclaimed in a defensive tone.

Shit! He'd forgotten she could sometimes do that!

"And don't you dare swear at me!" she added.

John sighed and sat down at the kitchen table to wait. Thirty minutes later, he was strumming with frustration. The woman had packed her clothes and toiletries quickly enough, dropping the medium sized case at John's feet, but when she'd started on her herbs, odds, and bits, she had began to dither and dawdle. She'd reach for a tin, mumble something then change her mind and reach for something else. Then she'd go to another room and return with yet another tin.

When she poked her head into the pantry for what he was sure was the hundredth time, John decided he'd had enough. He stood up. "Missouri, if you're not done in the next ten minutes, I'm going without you!" he threatened.

Missouri turned, her nostrils flaring with ire. "John Eric Winchester, you're a fine hunter so you of all people know there is no point in going at all if you're going to go half-cocked! I'm getting things that will help your daughter, so sit yourself down!"

Chastened, and frankly surprised that he let the woman get away with chastising him like a child, John sat.

Missouri hid a smile at his disbelief. "I know you're worried, and you have all the reason in the world to be, but I know what I'm doing. Trust me," she continued more kindly. He smiled wryly at her and her heart as always wrenched at the pain and love, and the fear and determination he carried in his heart. She couldn't help trying to reassure him. "Right now, Emily is alright. Until the full moon comes up, she's still just a girl."

John believed her. She knew better than to sugarcoat things for him, even when she was trying to dispel his fears.

* * *

Sam had finally succumbed to sleep, laying his head upon the bed next to Emily's legs. Dean however, couldn't sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Emily bloodied and unmoving on the ground. So he sat and kept a hold on both his siblings, the contact comforting him. He felt like he'd lose them if he lost contact with either one. His right hand rested lightly on Sam's nape. He was oblivious to the luxuriant silkiness of his brother's hair that was now longer than John had ever allowed him to keep it, but he was hyper aware of and grateful for his brother's warmth, his life. With his left hand, Dean tightly gripped Emily's right hand. Its slackness scared him even more than the lack of colour in her face. Because of the positions his siblings were in, Dean had to sit awkwardly to maintain the contact, but it was absolutely worth it.

The door eased open slowly and he looked up warily, tensing his body in preparation for a fight. He was suddenly and painfully aware that he'd let his guard down completely leaving himself and more importantly his siblings exposed. He'd not drawn any protective sigils on the walls or floor, and he'd left his gun and knife in the impala, and so had Sam. The only thing he had that was remotely close to protection was a half empty salt shaker in his jacket. He dimly wondered what John would have said if he'd been here.

Fortunately, there was no threat. It was Dr. Mehta. Dean heaved a sigh of relief.

"Dean, right?" the doctor spoke. Dean nodded. "Got a minute? There's something I want to talk to you about." If she found Dean's clinginess to his siblings weird, the woman didn't show it.

Dean reluctantly followed her outside the room. "What?" he said more curtly than he'd intended.

The doctor took an involuntary step back, but when she spoke, her voice was strong, full of conviction. "There are healing claw marks on your sister's shoulder. Mind telling me what caused those?"

Dean heard the thinly veiled accusation, and answered warily. "She was attacked by an eagle not too long ago. It was a freak accident; she was eating a steak outside, and the bird wanted it!"

"Does she get a lot of those?" this time the accusation wasn't as disguised as before. "Freak accidents, I mean?"

"What exactly are you asking?" Dean's voice was hard.

"Emily has a knife scar on her thigh, and I know she's tried to kill herself before if the fading scars on her arms are anything to go by. Now, I'm not saying anything, but I grew up on a farm with three older brothers. Let's just say their idea of entertainment, and mine were not entirely similar."

Dean exploded at the implication. "What the hell are you saying? You think we … I somehow hurt her? That I sicked a dog on her, used her as bait or maybe dared her into dangerous situations or something fucked up like that? Screw you! We'd never hurt her! I'd never hurt her!"

Looking into Dean's blazing eyes, the doctor believed him. However, it was his next words that convinced the woman beyond any doubt.

"If I could take her place, I would!" Dean said softly, feelingly, his ire gone as quickly as it had flared as he remembered that this woman had saved Emily's life. "I'd die in her place."

"Well, that won't be necessary, at least not this time!" the doctor said wryly, trying to make up for the accusation, but failing dismally with her weird humour. Nevertheless, Dean smiled at her.

"Thank you for watching out for her." he said.

"It's my job." the doctor said simply and walked away.

Dean watched her go. She was a brave woman, Dean had to give her that. Confronting a man who most people instinctively knew was dangerous was beyond the woman's call of duty and Dean knew it and respected her even more.

He checked his phone. Bobby was late. It was unusual, but not unexpected. Cars broke down, or run out of fuel, drivers run afoul of over zealous traffic police, and roads got closed for all sorts of reasons. He wasn't worried, Bobby had promised he'd be here, and Dean knew the man would do everything in his power to fulfil his promise. He leaned back against the wall and briefly closed his eyes. Then he shoved off, rolled his neck wearily and returned to the room, to the two people he lived for.


	10. Chapter 9

**A/N: The blurb of this story mentioned there would be language, and this chapter has quite a bit of it. **

* * *

Dean had finally managed to fall into a light sleep when Bobby got to the hospital. Telling the nurses that he was an uncle to the 'Masterson' siblings had gotten him past the nurses' station. He was surprised he'd been let in, since it was way past visiting hours and Emily already had two visitors, the maximum number allowed in a room. However, he didn't dare look a gift horse in the mouth, so he followed the nurse quietly, hanging onto his duffel and hoping she didn't ask him to leave it in a locker or something. She didn't, but he didn't relax until they were at the room. She knocked lightly before opening the door and stepping aside so he could walk in. She smiled kindly at him then closed it behind him. The Winchester boys had obviously been woken up by the knocking, even though it had been incredibly light. Both were coiled tensely, ready to take down any threat. They relaxed visibly when they saw it was him, and even though they both looked exhausted, Dean more so than Sam, they still smiled at him. His heart softened at the sight of them as it was wont to, and a smile tugged up his lips, noticeable only by the slight lifting of his moustache.

"Hey Bobby!" they greeted softly, then hugged him quickly in turn.

"You boys okay?" he asked, even as his eyes scanned them worriedly. He knew their penchant to underplay their injuries and discomforts, and needed his own visual confirmation.

"We're fine, Bobby. Not a scratch." Dean answered as he unsuccessfully tried to hide a yawn.

Bobby's eyes turned to Emily. He couldn't help feeling a sense of deja-vu seeing her in a hospital bed. At least this time she didn't have a face mask on. "How's she?" he asked as he walked over to look down at her. He gently capped her cheek, feeling unbelievably relieved when he felt it's warmth, and he couldn't help smiling fondly at the tangled nest her hair had already become.

"They saved her life … and her arm, though it'll not be a hundred percent." Sam answered, his voice subdued.

"It was bad Bobby, real bad." Dean whispered, horror tingeing his voice as he remembered the mess that had been Emily's arm, the blood, both hers and the werewolf's that had covered her chest and how lifeless she'd looked.

"She's not home free yet." Sam said solemnly reminding them all of the danger of infection, and not the infection the doctors were worried about.

"We'll figure something out." Bobby said stepping away from Emily and reaching into his duffel to retrieve the huge tome. Sam smiled and Dean groaned theatrically. Bobby shook his head at Dean's reaction. "You're lucky I brought just the one book! You guys can get some more sleep, I'll read."

"Bobby, you must be tired!" Sam exclaimed. A five hour drive would be no big deal to him, or Dean, or even Emily, but Bobby while not a candidate for a nursing home yet, was not exactly a spring chicken.

"You have no idea!" the man admitted. Now wasn't the time for keeping up appearances.

"So why don't you rest while I read." Sam offered.

"Geek!" Dean snorted. He ignored Sam's glare, settled himself and nodded off quite suddenly.

"I'm glad you're here Bobby." Sam said softly after about five minutes, when he was sure Dean was really asleep.

"She'll be fine, Sam." Bobby assured him.

"You really think so?"

"She's a Winchester, ain't she? Stubborn bunch of idjits you lot are! Never know when to quit! If anyone can beat the odds, it's her."

Sam bit his lower lip as he thought about that. All things considered, it wasn't much of a reassurance, but it was true that they'd pulled themselves out of sticky situations just by sheer force of will. Yes, they were stubborn, almost to a fault, but that wilfulness always did stand them in good stead. Sam nodded and returned to the tome.

Bobby hoped he'd not just made an empty promise. He watched Sam read, intending to keep silent vigil, but exhaustion wouldn't let him and he fell asleep without meaning to.

Sam read diligently for an hour, and a little less diligently for another thirty minutes before giving it up. He was beat. Marking the page he'd gone up to, he replaced the tome in the duffel and made himself as comfortable as someone his height could possibly get in such a chair. He closed his eyes, but that didn't stop unpleasant thoughts from buzzing around his head, despite his exhaustion. It was only after concentrating on Dean's breathing that he'd fallen asleep.

* * *

Sunrise came too soon, with the three men coming awake with creaks and groans, stiff backs and sore necks, and a burning desire for coffee that none of them was inclined to go and collect.

"Hey, look, I think she's waking up!" Bobby announced rather eagerly.

The brothers looked over at Emily. She was indeed showing signs of waking up, but they'd been around for the last two of her awakenings and had been completely underwhelmed. The first time, with her vision blurred and her brain not firing on all cylinders, she'd thought they were some sort of fuzzy holograms and had grinned in drugged amazement at how cool that was. Then she'd waffled on in an unfocused and mostly incoherent way, about some vacation she'd gone on with her parents, that had ended disastrously with them suffering severe food poisoning. She'd spoken in rambling detail about the rather disgusting effects of the poisoning, before chuckling and falling asleep abruptly. The second time she'd been a little less incoherent, but just as insanely happy and she'd sang Nick Drake's tragic song "Black Eyed Dog". Any other day, the choice of song would have scared them badly with it's foreboding lyrics and melancholic tune, but she'd sang it completely off key and with such creatively improvised lyrics that they'd bellowed in reluctant laughter. In both cases, Emily had not acknowledged or even seemed aware of where she was or how she had gotten there.

"Well, don't hold your breath!" Dean mumbled to Bobby while stifling a yawn.

"Actually, I think you should, but not for the reasons you think! She's very entertaining to watch and listen to, even though she barely makes any sense!" Sam chuckled as he stretched his long frame. He remembered how Emily had kept on reaching out to touch them but had consistently grabbed air instead, no matter how close they moved to her. Obviously her depth perception had been warped by whatever medication she was on.

"Except for the cussing. That is remarkably clear!" Dean added, his voice caught between disapproval and amusement.

"And rather creative." Sam said admiringly.

"Creative? She's got the mouth of a seasoned sailor!" Dean said disapprovingly.

Sam laughed at his brother's objections. Dean had had such a potty mouth as a teenager, and not even their father at his sternest or Pastor Jim at his most preachy could get him to clean up his language. It was only when they'd given him up as a lost cause and stopped bothering him about it, that he'd lost interest and stopped casually peppering all his sentences with every expletive he knew. Now he swore mostly when he was extremely emotional, which given their job and his temperament was still a lot. So his disapproval of Emily's language was ironic and hilarious.

However, Emily woke up lucid, and not as creatively crude as she'd been before, though her speech was far from expletive free. Blinking away the sleep from her eyes, she focused on her brothers.

"Sam? Dean? Oh thank Pythagoras! I was worried there were more of those mother-fucking sons of bitches and that they'd had made you their fucking chew toys!" she beamed at them, joy and relief evident in her voice that was still slightly slurred. Guilt that her survival had come at the expense of someone else would likely assail her later, but for now, all she felt was relief that she was still here and so were her brothers.

"Actually, there were three others," Dean answered.

"We took them down. We're fine!" Sam added hastily when he saw Emily's eyes clouding over with anxiety.

"Really?" she asked, narrowing her eyes suspiciously. She knew her brothers were likely to say they were fine even as they breathed their last.

"Yes, really." he assured her.

"Fuckin' Ace!" she cheered.

Dean rolled his eyes, then with identical grins, he and Sam leaned in to hug her, being careful not to jar the IVs. They raised the bed's head so she could get into a sitting position and she caught sight of Bobby who had hang back to allow the Winchesters their moment. "Bobby!"

"Good to see you kid!" Bobby leaned in for a hug, just as carefully as the brothers had. He was gratified and warmed by the joy in Emily's voice at seeing him. "I know motel beds are not exactly the most comfortable out there, but that's no reason to check into a hospital!" he teased.

"In case you weren't aware, we were at your house not a motel. The bloody beds weren't the issue though!" she paused for effect and with eyes twinkling with mischief, she finished with, "It was the fucking ambiance!"

Bobby chortled good-naturedly. Telling Emily off about her language would achieve nothing, so he took it in stride. Besides, having lived and hunted as long as he had, he'd heard far worse, and he knew her language would clear up as whatever drugs the doctors had her on cleared her body. "No, I will not put up that pink sparkly wallpaper you are so keen on!" he said mock sternly.

Emily laughed heartily. Obviously she'd never had a desire for pink sparkly wallpaper. It was just a standing but constantly tweaked joke because she was such a girlie girl, in appearance anyway, and in addition to that, she absolutely loved riotous colour, while the boys and Bobby, having lived their whole lives in shadow as they hunted and were hunted, preferred and gravitated towards darker ones.

"Okay, what about yellow? Yellow is good, and according to everyone, it's a unisex colour!" she asked tongue-in-cheek.

"Unisex my foot! Even Sammy doesn't like yellow!" Dean said aghast.

"Hey! What is that supposed to mean?" Sam said trying but failing to sound affronted. Emily giggled and Dean smiled.

Pretending to read the tome, Bobby watched the siblings as they joked and expertly skirted around the reason Emily was in the hospital in the first place. There was time enough for that particular discussion anyway.

He was amazed by the changes the months had made to Emily. She was leaner, more toned, and her hair was longer, its length making her oval face seem even more feminine than before. But the most subtle, and yet perversely the most obvious of changes was in her eyes. Bobby wouldn't have exactly called it a loss of innocence, though that certainly came to mind. No, it was more an awareness that hadn't been there before. An awareness of just how fucked the world really was. But surprisingly, there was also acceptance and serenity in those eyes. While she hadn't been in doubt before leaving the yard, the time on the road with her brothers had really made her understand and appreciate the fact that she had a family. She had people who cared for her immensely, people she could really count on, no matter what. People who would take her side, no questions asked. People who would die for her, and yes, even kill for her. She had found her place in the fucked world. That knowledge, that awareness, was there now in those amber eyes, which were nevertheless still twinkling with mirth, and bursting with life.

Bobby also noticed the changes in Sam. The lanky, awkward kid was slowly being replaced by a sinewy man, and his hair was much longer than Bobby had ever seen it when the boys had been with John. There was also a new confidence to the boy that Bobby knew had nothing to do with Sam's developing ruggedness but was due to the fact that his siblings trusted and relied on him. Bobby was sure that John's absence had also been a contributing factor to the new Sam.

Dean was the one constant of the trio. He still wore his hair in a John approved crewcut, he still hid his sensitivity, vulnerability and his shattered self esteem in layers upon layers of cocky, wisecracking swagger and he still behaved like he was superman; unbreakable, and with the whole weight of the world on his shoulders. However, Bobby had always been able to see through Dean's mask and today was no different. He saw the self-doubt, and the feelings of inadequacy. He saw the longing for a different life that Dean would never admit to anyone, probably not even to himself. Dean snorted in derision at what he called 'the apple pie life' and had convinced everyone that he didn't want it, that it wouldn't suit him, that it would be boring. But that was only because he knew he could never have it.

It was ironic really, Bobby mused, how Dean's inner demons made him even more of an attentive, protective brother when it came to Sam and Emily. Having them to watch over not only gave Dean a purpose, it also kept him from self-analysing. His focus on them meant he didn't have to face himself. Besides, their light chased away some of his darkness.

Bobby was glad the siblings had each other. Each benefitted uniquely from the others and from the relationship and they were all better off for it. He also didn't miss the new intensity of the bond between the three. He didn't need anyone to tell him that a shared trauma, probably during a hunt in the last months, had drawn them even closer. Chain links tested by fire were unbelievably strong.

"Sweet Pythagoras, did I get a bloody colon cleansing or something? I'm so damn hungry!" Emily whined suddenly making Bobby stifle a laugh.

"You sound like Dean!" Sam snickered.

"Oh no! You mean I suffered brain damage too?" Emily wailed theatrically. This time Sam and Bobby exploded with laughter.

"You two are gonna get us kicked out!" Dean complained, then turning to Emily he mock growled, "I hope they bring you jello that tastes like ass!"

Emily smiled cheekily back at him, "Why? So you can have it instead?"

Dean's retort was cut short, by a knock at the door, which opened almost immediately, revealing Dr. Mehta.

They all wondered why she'd even bothered knocking. She didn't seem daunted by the three scowling men who'd shot to their feet. "Good morning!" She encompassed them all in the greeting, then skirted past the brothers to Emily's side. "How are you feeling?" she asked, her voice curt but kind.

"I'm fine," slipped out of Emily's lips as automatically as a knee jerk.

Bobby shook his head in disbelief. Seriously, these kids and their 'it's just a scratch' attitude, were going to be the death of him one day.

The doctor who had been looking at Emily's chart frowned at the answer and turned to Bobby. "I presume you're the father?"

"Uncle actually. The name's Bobby." he answered genially.

"Good to meet you." she said extending her hand to shake his. "Now if you and your nephews don't mind, I'd like to talk to your niece."

"Sure, go ahead."

"In private!"

"Why?" Sam asked in mild surprise and suspicion.

"I have my reasons!"

"Which are?" Bobby growled. The affable man was gone in a flash, replaced with a steely eyed one.

Dean, who after last night's confrontation with the doctor had figured out those reasons, smiled grimly. "Well, she thinks we might have hurt Emily!"

There was a moment of stunned silence, then Emily exploded spectacularly. "What?" Screw you lady, the fucking horse you rode in on and the god damed high road you took!" My brothers would never hurt me, ever! And neither would Bobby!" Then after a couple of angry heaves of breath she added, "Who the hell are you anyway? I'm too old for a social worker!"

Dean didn't know whether to admonish her or applaud or flat out laugh. He could tell Sam was as torn as he was. Bobby who didn't know who the woman was, and hence didn't feel indebted to her for being instrumental in saving Emily's life, had no such qualms. He was visibly trying to hold back laughter, and not really succeeding.

They were all amazed when the doctor only tutted mildly. "Well, Miss Masterson, you certainly are outspoken!" Emily's fiery, outraged defence of her brothers had put the doctor's last misgivings to rest. "And dare I say you're feeling much better than you did last night! And to answer your last question, I'm your doctor."

Emily, to her credit, looked abashed. "I'm sorry, I went off on you like that. I ... uh guess you're only doing your job, but … umm, you shouldn't have accused them." She waved her uninjured hand vaguely.

"Yeah, I got that! I'm sorry if overstepped." the doctor smiled wryly. She decided she liked this weird family even though they were a little rough around the edges and about as stable as a powder keg in the hands of a chain smoker.

Emily smiled back. "No harm, no foul, right?" The doctor didn't strike her like the easily offended type, but one could never be too sure.

"Right! Though I've got to say, I've never been told off in such a manner before! You and your brother certainly have a way with words! It makes me wonder if your mother ever heard of a swear jar?" Dr. Mehta laughed. She regretted her words immediately, because suddenly it seemed like the air had left the room as all three siblings' breaths hitched dramatically.

"I'm sorry!" the doctor apologised without really knowing why, though from the reactions her statement had gotten she could guess.

"Our mothers are dead." Dean said emotionlessly, as if the words didn't break his heart anew when he said them.

The doctor startled, having not expected a plural. But plural or not, she had really put her foot in it this time. "I'm so sorry!" she said again.

Dean shrugged. "You didn't know," he said in the same emotionless voice.

The doctor didn't miss the concerned look in the uncle's eyes or the raw pain in the siblings' eyes, or how the brothers moved a little closer to their sister's bed. A decidedly awkward silence filled the room.

It was mercifully broken by the loud unintentionally irreverent growl of Emily's stomach, which was followed by a grumbly expletive from her. This time Bobby growled an admonishment at her, asking her to temper her language, and she apologised hastily, throwing yet another expletive into the apology. She widened her eyes in rueful contrition, her hand covering her out of control mouth. Bobby threw up his hands in defeat. Sam and Dean tried to hold in their mirth but were unsuccessful.

Dr. Mehta heaved a sigh of relief at the suddenly light atmosphere, and decided to use the unexpected opening as an exit strategy. "Well, breakfast will be served soon, and someone will be in shortly to check your dressings, but if there's something you'd like to know before I go …"

"When can I leave?" Emily immediately asked.

The doctor smiled, having expected that question. "We intend to monitor you for a day or two, and if your recovery stays on track, we'll close up your wound and discharge you."

"Awesome! And what about this thing? When does it get off?" Emily indicated the fixator.

"Normally, six to eight weeks, but as your break was particularly bad, it'll stay on longer, that's about eight to ten weeks. You'll also have to undergo extensive physiotherapy."

"Jesus H Christ! Eight weeks? I just got back to my baby, now I have to wait another eight weeks? This sucks ass!"

Both Sam and Bobby looked knowingly at Dean who shrugged guiltily. 'Sucks ass' was one of Dean's stock phrases and they all knew it.

"Trust a teenager to think a broken arm would get in the way of mothering!" Dr. Mehta thought uncharitably. It annoyed her to no end that kids were in a hurry to grow up, and then they found all sorts of excuses to run away from their responsibilities. Why they even kept their babies in the first place was beyond her. They probably thought that having a baby was like having a life size human doll to dress in the cutest outfits and that it would be pretty cool or awesome or whatever other adjective they used these days! "The fixator is an inconvenience, and I'm sure it will make things harder, but it won't get in the way of looking after your baby." she lectured disapprovingly.

Sam and Dean snickered appreciatively as they waited for Emily's outburst.

She disappointed them by settling for a scowl and a sarcastic almost bored drawl, "Wow, you're really judgey for a doctor!"

"Umm, by baby, she actually means her guitar," Bobby explained to the puzzled woman, as the brothers were clearly not going to.

"Oh!" Dr. Mehta turned to Emily. "I'm sorry. Again!"

Emily shrugged. "Meh, it's no skin off my nose." At this rate, taking issue with everything the woman said would be rather tedious, besides, Emily wanted her gone so she and her brothers and Bobby could talk.

"And umm, about the guitar, well … like I explained to your brothers, you suffered extensive nerve damage. We had to do a nerve graft in the surgery. It's going to take upwards of eighteen months for full nerve recovery, and even then, chances are you won't be able to play the guitar like you used to, or even at all." Dr. Mehta continued.

"What?" Emily whispered in dismayed disbelief.

"I'm so sorry." the doctor said feelingly, reaching out to pat Emily awkwardly on the knee.

The woman's awkward compassion, such a glaring contrast to her confident brilliance, brought a reluctant smile to Emily's face. "It's not your fault."

"Yeah, well … but I wish there was something more I could do."

"You saved my life." Emily smiled kindly. "I'll forever be indebted to you."

"We all will." Sam added with heartfelt gratitude. Dean and Bobby nodded in agreement.

Mehta felt humbled. True she'd part of the team that had saved the girl's life and repaired her arm, but she felt like she'd invalidated all that good with all the unfeeling accusations she'd thrown at this family, and somehow being unable to return the girl's hand to full capability seemed like another strike against her. That they were all still willing to acknowledge the good she'd done and ignore everything else was frankly very humbling. She had to continue her rounds, but she found herself lingering as she enjoyed the company of the Mastersons and what was to her greatest surprise, intelligent though irreverently humorous conversation. It was only when two nurses came in to change Emily's dressings that Dr. Mehta left, promising to return. The four of them had no way of knowing that such a promise was completely uncharacteristic of the doctor who despite her passion for her patients' welfare, somehow always managed to remain detached.

The nurses who introduced themselves as Jane and Carol were professional, changing the dressings quickly and efficiently. They too lingered longer than necessary, with Carol laughingly enjoying Dean's outrageous flirting and Jane trying to catch Sam's eye. He as usual, was oblivious to the attention. Bobby rolled his eyes and whispered "Idjits!" to Emily who had no way of knowing who he was talking about, the nurses or her brothers, but was tickled nevertheless.

When the nurses finally left, the atmosphere in the room changed yet again. "Why didn't you tell me?" Emily asked her brothers and Bobby, a note of accusation creeping into her voice. "Why didn't you tell me how bad it was?" she whispered.

"Because it could have been worse." Sam finally answered, just as softly.

"How?" Emily asked, the answer coming to her even as the question left her lips. She remembered the attack in terrifying vivid detail. Yes, it could have been worse! She could have been killed, but a far worse fate than even that would have been the injury healing without medical intervention. That would have meant she'd been infected.

Sam saw the understanding dawn in Emily's eyes, and they widened in horror soon after. He wanted to reassure her, but for once, he didn't know what to say.

"Do you really think I dodged that bullet?" she asked them. She didn't have to detail her question, they all knew what she was asking.

"I don't know! Maybe. I hope!" Sam spoke, the uncertainty very clear in his words.

Instinctively, Emily's eyes turned to Dean. He was the king of reassuring declarations, even when it was clearly hopeless.

"This is all unprecedented. I don't know what to think." Dean looked away from his sister. He was all out of reassurances. He run a hand through his hair in distress. He idly thought it was longer than he liked to keep it, and he reminded himself to get a haircut soon, and try to convince Sam to cut his as well.

It was a sure sign of tension when no one teased him about using a big word like unprecedented.

They sat in contemplative silence, until a hospital food service worker came in with breakfast for Emily who was frankly no longer interested in it.

Bobby managed to persuade the boys to go home only after telling them that they needed to go get Sam and Emily's laptops for research. As they walked out the door, he added, "And for the love of all that's holy, clean yourselves up. And get some food in you as well."

"Yeah, we'll clean up!" Sam answered, and he didn't just mean him and Dean having a bath. Bobby decided there was no need to tell the boys that he'd taken care of the werewolves. They'd find out for themselves soon enough.

After her brothers left, Emily stared unseeingly at the ceiling for nearly three minutes before speaking. "Square with me, Bobby. It could still happen, right? I could still become a werewolf? Am I going to become a mindless monster? Bloodthirsty and evil? Will I lose control and hurt someone? Kill someone?"

"You will never be evil, no matter what!"

Emily closed her eyes. It was a sweet, kind answer, and Bobby, bless his sappy soul, really believed it, but it wasn't true. Anyone was capable of becoming evil, and a werewolf bite might just have jumpstarted her reluctant journey into evilness. Tears leaked out the corner of her eyes. No dramatics or hysterics, just irrepressible wayward tears. "Bobby!" she whispered, "The truth … please!"

He sighed. "Fine, but look at me."

She didn't move.

"Look at me Emily!" it was a sharp order; a voice he rarely used, but knew couldn't be ignored.

Her eyes snapped open. The amber liquified with unshed tears. The distress obvious.

"Yes, the truth is you MIGHT become one of the things we hunt, and the evil inside MIGHT become hard to control. But hear me when I say we'll move heaven and earth before we let that happen! Now that is the TRUTH! Me, your brothers, heck, even your father, we will not let you become a monster!"

Emily saw the conviction and love in those blue eyes and believed him. "I'm scared, Bobby!" she finally confessed, and the sobs she had so determinedly held at bay till then broke free and tears spilled in torrents down her face.

Bobby put aside the food tray and held her, as best as he could, given the tubes and the fixator. She laid her head on his shoulder and cried. She really was overwhelmed, this was all too much to bear. Stoic as ever on the outside, Bobby mourned and raged on the inside. He hated this. Hated that the Winchesters couldn't seem to catch a break. He hated that all he had to offer Emily was a shoulder to cry on. He could have done anything not to have her go through this, but there wasn't a damn thing he could do, except let her cry.

* * *

**A/N: To those who are following this story, I'm so sorry. I know I've really dropped the ball on this one, but life got in the way, then a spot of depression took hold, and then the inevitability of technology failing when most needed! Fingers crossed this doesn't happen again.**


	11. Chapter 10

The Winchester boys drove to the yard in silence; not even the radio, Dean's favourite silence buster, was on. The anxiety and dread were almost palpable. However the negative feelings disappeared when Dean turned the car into the yard. Both boys breathed out in happy relief when they realised that despite the events of last evening, the yard still felt like home. They'd both been worried that the attack had ruined the second place they thought of as home, that it had taken away the safety and comfort the yard emanated. But the yard still retained it's comforting familiarity. The piles of gutted cars were projects or spare parts, and not sinister hiding places, the changing shadows thrown by the trees were not monsters in waiting, but just effects of the sun playing hide and seek with the clouds, and the rustling, whispering sounds breaking the silence were not threatening attacks but just the wind shifting leaves and grass. Still, the brothers held their guns ready.

Rumsfeld was as happy to see them as they were to see him, and both stopped to briefly pat the often aloof dog. He did not follow them to the house, choosing instead to stand by the back passenger door of the impala.

"Sorry boy, she's not in there." Sam told the dog when he noticed its vigil. With a sad whine, Rumsfeld trotted back to the battered truck he used for sunbathing. A minute later, he raised his head and sniffed the air, then he jumped off the truck and went round the house.

The brothers imagined the worst when they found the bodies gone, but considering Rumsfeld was home and Bobby had been late coming to the hospital, they quickly figured the man had cleaned up before heading over last night. No wonder he had been exhausted. Both brothers already held Bobby in extremely high esteem, and it didn't seem possible that he'd inch any higher, but remarkably, he did. It was good that he didn't expect them to return any favours because they could never be even with him, even if they tried for the rest of their lives.

However, Bobby had not managed or maybe he just hadn't gotten time to get rid of the three blood stains that marked where each wolf had gone down, and those stains were the only evidence of what had happened the evening before. Dean's eyes lingered on the red splodges and he tried and failed not to think about what would happen to Emily if the curse had been transferred to her, and they failed to stop its progression. He wondered whether she too would end up dead on a stranger's porch, alone and unmourned, whether she'd be laid in an unmarked grave or consumed on a pyre, whether a prayer would even be said for her soul. He shook his head as if to clear it and walked into the house. Sam's thoughts run morbidly parallel to Dean's and he took a shuddering breath to compose himself before following his brother inside.

While Sam showered, Dean steeled himself and made breakfast in the same kitchen their sister had lay bleeding not too long ago, and with the same fortitude, he went and scrubbed the porch clean. Then while Dean showered, Sam located the books Bobby had requested, the laptops, Emily's hairbrush, comb and toothbrush, a dress and her flip-flops, the iPod, and the travel coffee mug she had gifted Bobby. She'd had a trucker cap and the words 'Sensei Singer' cheekily engraved on it. Bobby loved the thing, and even though it was a travel mug, he drank coffee out of it everyday and didn't carry it when he travelled for fear of losing it. Today was going to be the first time ever for it to be taken out of the house. Sam prayed it would make the return journey or Bobby would have his head.

When Dean came back downstairs, complaining about how steamy Sam had left the bathroom, the boys sat down together to have breakfast. That was when Sam finally aired a suggestion that had taken root in his head and wouldn't leave him alone.

"I think those wolves targeted us specifically." he stated cautiously.

Dean looked at his brother like he was a few fries short of a Happy Meal, and briefly wondered whether the shock of the attack had belatedly caught up to Sam. "Werewolves don't do specific targets, they're not strategists, Sam! They're animals!" he answered slowly.

Sam elected not to dwell on Dean's rather disparaging tone. He had a theory and he intended to voice it. "Think about it Dean. Where did they come from? There should have been other attacks nearby, leading up to this. The yard couldn't have been the first place four full grown werewolves attacked! I think someone brought them or controlled them."

Dean considered Sam's words and realised he had a point. Even though the two of them had concluded that these werewolves were nothing like the one they'd met as children or those they'd subsequently read about, what with being able to change on a non full moon night, the brothers knew that other wolf traits would most likely still be existent. And one of those traits would be the inability to curb the beast when in wolf form. One wolf would have been bad indeed, but four would have been deadly; these wolves should therefore have left a bloody trail of destruction in their wake. But there was none. There had been no attacks, and no sightings. It was like someone had caged up the four wolves and transported them to the yard! Or the wolves had somehow held onto their humanity until reaching the yard. Of the two incredibly far left options, the former seemed less crazy.

"Mmm, okay, I admit, you might be onto something Sammy. But who or what can have power over werewolves? Enough juice to use them as weapons?"

Sam shrugged. "I have no idea!" He'd not really thought that far ahead.

"Demon maybe?" Dean suggested.

"Don't think so. They've got their hellhounds, they wouldn't really have any need for werewolves. Besides, demons don't just want her dead. They want her dead and in hell." he said matter-of-factly. However, the surreality of the statement did not escape him and not for the first time, he wondered why they were in this life.

"A witch?"

"If she's powerful enough to control four werewolves, she's powerful enough to come after us on her own." Sam said, effectively shooting that suggestion down as well.

"Some bitches just like delegating!" Dean grouched.

Despite everything, Sam couldn't help smiling at that. "Yeah, well, whoever or whatever sent them, probably knows by now that they didn't succeed."

"And you think there'll be another attempt."

"We have to suppose that there will be."

"Shit!" Dean breathed.

"Exactly!"

"Guess the vacation is bust!"

Sam resisted the urge to roll his eyes at his brother's answer. "We have to find out who those guys were. Maybe we can find the person who sent them and end this on our terms."

"How are you going to do that, psychic wonder? Make tea from their ashes?"

"You know about tasseography?" Sam injected a note of disbelief in his voice, unable to resist baiting his brother.

"What?" Dean answered as predictably as Sam had thought he would. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Sam held in a grin. "That's what reading tea leaves is called."

"Seriously?"

"You wanna look it up?" Sam asked innocently, pretending he didn't know the reason for Dean's disbelief. "I'm sure Bobby has got a dictionary around here somewhere!"

"Damn it, I don't need a dictionary! Could you be a bigger geek?" Dean shook his head. "Jesus, I wonder how we could possibly be related!"

"You're the one who brought it up!" Sam pointed out.

"Yeah, well, I was trying not to blatantly point out the obvious; all four wolf boys are dead, so we can't exactly go up to them and ask shit! Oh … wait, don't tell me you're thinking of an Ouija board?"

Sam glared at Dean for a few moments before speaking. "Fine, what do you suggest then?"

Dean shrugged. Aside from bursting his brother's bubble, he really had no ideas. "For now the best we can do is return to the hospital. We've got the computers, Bobby is on it, and you and Rae can theorise to your dork hearts content. Between the four of us, we'll figure this thing out, and get the son of a bitch who did this."

Whether they got it figured in time or whether it would have any bearing on Emily's condition was a matter neither brother wanted to think about. They finished their breakfast hurriedly, and washed up. Dean grabbed the duffel that had the books and Emily's things, while Sam carried the two satchels with the laptops. With their guns at the ready again, they stepped out the front door. Rumsfeld bounded over to them, from the right side of the house his sudden appearance making Dean squawk.

"You're going to get yourself shot, boy. You don't go running up to an armed man! Especially one who has recently had a run in with wolves!"

Sam whose own heart was beating a mile a minute couldn't resist teasing his brother. "Man, Dean, you just squealed like a little girl!" he laughed heartily.

"Shut up!" Dean growled at Sam. "What's with him anyway?" he added looking at the rottweiler with a frown. Rumsfeld, while extremely alert, was a placid dog. He wasn't easily excitable, nor was he given to chasing critters or exploring the yard. It was that combination of alertness and calmness that made him a great guard dog.

The dog barked and raced away. Then returned when he realised they were not following him. He nipped at their ankles, eliciting an irritated bellowed "What?" from Dean.

"I think he wants us to follow him!" Sam exclaimed.

"You clearly watched too many episodes of Lassie!" Dean snorted.

"Just follow the dog!" it was Sam's turn to growl.

"Fine!" Dean snapped. "But if it turns out he just found a dead squirrel, I'm going to hit you over the head with it!" They put the bags in the car and followed the dog.

Rumsfeld led them round back, across the expansive yard, past the small copse at the edge of the property, past the split-rail fence that was in such disrepair that it wouldn't keep a determined two year old out, not that a two year old child would want to venture into the yard! They went through a dense wooded area that made them wonder whether it was some kind of unclaimed no-man's land or part of a neighbour's acreage, past a flower garden that was more neglected than Bobby's place had been before Emily's arrival. And then they arrived so suddenly at a cabin, it was like it had materialised from the air. Beautifully built and nestled so perfectly in the woods, it was probably some rich family's holiday cabin, but from the look of it, the family hadn't used it in years. However, someone else had. Parked in the driveway that was crawling with weeds, was a nondescript grey van. Rumsfeld stopped and sat next to it.

"Good boy," Sam praised the dog even though he had no idea what they had found.

"Nice wheels!" Dean snorted derisively. "Go on, Sammy, check it out, I'll cover you."

Sam resisted the urge to ask 'why me?' and carefully sidled to the van. He was surprised to find it open. He slipped inside and began the search. The glovebox was a bust; it contained just a map, an old owner's manual and a box of cassettes.

"Guess you're not the only one stuck in the stone ages!" he snickered at Dean before continuing his search. He found the vehicle's registration, insurance details and a picture tucked into the sun visor. According to the documentation, the car was registered to a Hunter Keating, a thirty year old male. Sam knew this meant little in the scheme of things. After all, Dean's beloved impala was registered to a Dean Edwards, so it was just as likely that Hunter Keating was an alias.

The picture however gave Sam pause as he looked down at the faces of their attackers. "Looks like these guys were brothers," he said solemnly as he stepped out of the van and handed the picture and registration to Dean.

Dean took the picture and studied it. It hadn't been evident during the flurry of the attack, or its aftermath, but the resemblance between all four men was unmistakable. Dark haired, and brown eyed, they were good-looking, vibrant and happy. Dean closed his eyes temporarily, willing away the images of the men dead … killed by him and his siblings. He reminded himself that the four hadn't been men, but monsters. Monsters that had attacked them. Monsters they had killed in self-defence. But it was hard to reconcile the attack while looking down at a picture of people who looked so wholesome. He sighed and turned the picture over to see if it was marked. It wasn't.

"Jesus, I hope there were no wives or kids!" he said heavily.

"Or parents ... or another sibling." Sam added, his voice clogged with emotion.

Both knew someone important and well loved by the four men had taken that picture. The way they all smiled at the camera was evidence of that. Someone out there was missing these men.

Dean sighed once again and tucked the picture and registration into his pockets. "Let's check out the house."

The door opened to a great room which evidently had served as the sleeping quarters for the squatters as there were four unrolled sleeping bags laid out in a row on the floor, with various articles of clothing and grooming things scattered over them. There were five duffel bags as well. Disregarding this find for the moment, Sam and Dean swept the whole house first, so they wouldn't get any nasty surprises later.

Evidently the four men had used only three rooms; the kitchen, with its sparse cans and packets of food, the utilitarian bathroom and the great room. The rest of the house had not been disturbed; it was covered in thick dust and cobwebs.

Once assured they were alone, Sam and Dean put away their guns and returned to properly investigate the great room. Dean pointed Sam to the corner sleeping bag on top of which lay neatly folded clothes, while a duffel bag and a pair of worn converse shoes were lined precisely at the bottom. "Looks like you're not the only anal one!" he smirked trying to inject some lightness into the somber atmosphere.

"It's called being neat, Dean!" Sam latched onto the opening with relief.

"You say to-may-to, I say to-mah-to. Same difference!" Dean said dismissively, greatly enjoying the affronted look on Sam's face.

Feeling all shades of crappy and guilt, they went through the men's things.

"I've got a wallet!" Dean said waving it around.

"We're not at an auction, Dean! Open it!" Sam snarked.

It belonged to a Carver Keating, aged twenty-nine. Sam found twenty-three year old Archer Keating's wallet tucked into a folded sock. Dean was right, the man really was anal. Gunner Keating was twenty-seven and the car's registration details matched Hunter Keating's identification. The Keatings were from Spokane, Washington.

"Archer, Carver, Gunner, and Hunter? What was their mother smoking when she named them?" Dean snickered derisively.

"Warrior Weed?" Sam quipped innocently.

Dean laughed himself into hiccoughs.

"What are we going to do about this?" Sam asked after Dean had laughed himself out.

Dean shrugged. "Umm … mmm … okay, let's gather all this stuff and put it in the van. We'll figure out what to do with it later. We'll take the van's keys, the wallets and the phones with us though."

It took three trips to get everything in the van. Then they trudged back to the yard. At the edge of the copse, Rumsfeld began to growl. Shushing the dog, the brothers shared a split second glance with each other and retrieved their guns. They crossed the yard in a silent dead run and flattened themselves against the wall. Their eyes were briefly drawn to the tomatoes that Emily had harvested before she'd been attacked. The vegetables had rotted in the sun, and the sight made the boys' hearts stutter. Taking steadying breaths, they looked away from the ground to each other. At Dean's signal, Sam flung open the kitchen door.

"Don't move!"

Two unwavering guns pointed at another.


	12. Chapter 11

It had taken Missouri just over an hour to get ready to hit the road, and it had taken John everything in his being not to lay into her with his tongue, because God knew the woman's tongue was sharper than his, her vocabulary more colourfully creative, her face more expressive, and she took longer to run out of breath when she started on a rant.

Once in the truck, she had sat demurely for about a minute, then she had began to mess with his radio. Again, John bit his tongue to keep his complaints to himself; for all he knew, she might have carried her spoon in her purse, which was nearly as big as his duffel bag. John wasn't sure what she'd left behind in her house, because aside from the gigantic purse, Missouri was bringing two medium cases and an extra large duffel bag. He wondered where she'd bought that thing, and if she'd ever used it before today. He didn't dare ask.

He liked Missouri, loved her even, like an annoying know-it-all sister, but he had to admit, having a passenger was weird. Since he'd parted ways with his sons, John had mostly gone it alone. And he liked it that way. He liked hunting alone, liked having no one to constantly worry about, liked the focus it gave him. But even more than hunting alone, John loved being alone in his truck. He loved the freedom that came with it. He could listen to whatever music he wanted and sing along without anyone judging him, he could let one rip and not have the pressure to air it out, he could drive as long as he wanted, without having to consider the needs of anyone else. And best of all, he did not have to do any small talk. His car was his refuge. When absolutely necessary, he would take a partner on a hunt, and would happily or pretend happily share a motel room with them, but he always made sure they came with their own car so they wouldn't hitch with him.

He remembered with a pang, that Emily had been the last person to occupy that seat, and he remembered how having her there had not felt weird or awkward. The conversation between them had been easy, the few silences had been comfortable. She'd put him and her brothers at ease when they'd gotten to the mall, and the photo-booth, and the day had been so much better for it. They'd all been genuinely happy that day, at least the second half of it. He couldn't help wondering whether that was what this was about. Was fate so jealous of their happiness that she snatched it away almost as soon as it entered their lives? Give him a wife and take her away so cruelly? Give him a daughter and have her become a monster he'd have to destroy? God if fate was human, John would have loved to get his hands round her neck and squeeze! He'd do anything to save his daughter. Not just for her sake, but for her brothers too. Sam and Dean had lost so much; their mother, their childhoods, their possible futures, and normalcy, and God forbid, John was not going to stand by and let them lose their sister too. She was the only other light they had in the world aside from each other.

John knew his sons had always had a special bond, a bond literally forged in fire, a bond strengthened by loss. A bond that didn't include him. Despite his many insecurities, he knew without a doubt they loved him, but he'd never been part of their sacred circle. No one ever had, until Emily. When she'd come into their lives, John knew the boys would like her, possibly even love her, but he'd never expected them to let her in so completely. But they had, and in nearly no time at all! John had to admit that it had hurt him a little when that had happened.

While the bond between Emily and her brothers could never be the same as that between the boys, it was just as strong. And Emily loved them back with an unmistakable fierceness that was both heartwarming and heart-stopping. The attachment those three had to each other was beautiful, and quite frankly worrying. The boys would go to extreme lengths for each other and for Emily, and she in turn would follow them anywhere. If she died, or became a monster that needed to be put down, Sam and Dean would change irrevocably. They wouldn't break completely, they were Winchesters, they were too strong for that, but they would have lost a crucial part of their souls that they would never get back. They'd never be whole. John wasn't going to let that happen. Not while he still had breath in his body.

Missouri had settled on a station playing country music and was humming along to the songs. Any other day, John would bitch about the station choice, but not today. There was a more pressing issue.

"Tell me what you know!" he asked, the request coming out as more of a command.

"About what?"

"Missouri, now is not the time to get all mysterious with me. I waited over an hour for you to get yourself in gear because you told me you could help save my daughter. Tell me how!" he snapped. He was all out of patience for this trying woman.

Missouri arched one eyebrow which was a completely wasted gesture in the darkness. She spoke calmly, evenly. "I'll make portions that will flush out the poison of the wolf. It'll be like detoxifying. If we can flush it out before the full moon, she'll be okay." From the notes she'd read, she knew it would be nothing like detoxifying, but that was the easiest way of explaining the process.

"That doesn't sound too bad!" John said in a relieved voice. He'd been imagining horrific treatments like crude amputation and cauterisation.

"It's not easy. And it isn't pleasant either." She spoke sternly, knowing that no matter what she said, her words wouldn't prepare him anyway.

"What? How bad can it be taking a portion?" he scoffed.

"What matters is that it works." Missouri said instead.

The fact that she was using a variation of his 'the end justifies the means' philosophy made John wary, but currently, she was the only person he knew who seemed to have any solution so he decided to hold his tongue. However, he was not going to sit on the sidelines if this treatment of hers hurt his daughter.

The music made the miles disappear. It was nearly an hour later when Missouri spoke startling John who thought she'd fallen asleep.

"Tell me about Emily. What is she like?"

"I've barely spent any time with her." John said unable to completely clear his voice of the sadness that confession brought.

"Well, in the short time you've spent with her, I'm sure you formed an opinion! After all you're one of the most opinionated people I've ever met."

"One has nothing to do with the other!" John found himself laughing at the woman's intentional wrong use of the word.

"I didn't ask for a lesson in English!" she chided him.

He sighed, and went silent as he thought of how to describe Emily. Missouri thought he wasn't going to answer and was pleasantly surprised when he did.

"She's beautiful! And strong, though you wouldn't know that looking at her, because she looks … umm … well, delicate is the word that comes to mind! And I know for a fact she hates that word." John laughed ruefully. "If you saw her, you wouldn't believe she eats almost as much as Dean! And she's got amazing levels of energy! You should see her walk! She's a little bouncy. It's like she's got springs under her feet. She talks even crazier than she walks, especially when she's excited; she makes these animated wild gestures and her eyes twinkle. She has a quirky sense of humour and the weirdest laugh I've ever heard, and that is saying something, knowing how Sammy laughs. And boy is she a spitfire! I think she might have gotten her temper from me! Though she's not as quick to lose it." he shrugged admitting a shortcoming casually. "She's musical; she sings and plays the guitar, and she's actually good at both. Now that, she definitely didn't get from me! She's as smart as a whip! But she can be incredibly singleminded, something else she might have gotten from me. She's surprising sweet, can be very contained …" John paused and checked himself. He realised he was speaking with the rosy coloured bias of a parent, so he added more reservedly, "She's a good kid. The boys love her. Bobby too."

"She sounds great!" Missouri grinned, a slight teasing tone colouring her voice.

"She is." he said, his voice tinged with joy and pride.

"And her having nothing to do with Mary must be freeing!" Missouri commented softly after about a minute.

John opened his mouth to protest then closed it as he registered the meaning behind Missouri's words and realised it was true. His sons always reminded him of his Mary. Both were fearless and had her spunk. They were incredibly fierce, but at the same time gentle. They, especially Sam, might have got their stubbornness from him, but that gritty determination was from their mother. Like her, both tended to put others before themselves, sometimes to their detriment, Dean slightly more often than Sam. Then there was the humour. Sam definitely had his mother's wry wit, while Dean tended towards ribald or cheeky jokes and one liners like his father, but he used the humour as a shield just like his mother used to. In addition to that, there were those idiosyncrasies that John couldn't ignore. Dean's inability to sit still or in silence for long periods was a trait he had in common with his mother. He listened to John's kind of music, but he hummed along and drummed tattoos on everything like Mary had. Sam chewed his thumb when he was concentrating, just like Mary had and he flushed and ducked his head when he was uncomfortable. He also had a tendency to hide behind his hair when it got long enough.

Even physically, they reminded him of Mary. Well, now that they were older, it was not as glaring as it had been when they were children, but there were still enough similarities that made his heart ache whenever he looked at either boy. Dean's hair while not as blond as his mother's, was a strange mix of her blond and John's brown. He had freckles like her, and he had her eyes though his were green where hers had been blue green, appearing blue more often than not. Sam had Mary's hundred watt smile, and her ability to get people to do what he wanted with his expressive, earnest eyes.

Hell, even Adam, who wasn't Mary's reminded John of her! Blond and blue eyed, he looked just like his mother, Kate, whose striking resemblance to Mary was the only reason John had let down his guard temporarily, leading to the dalliance that had led to Adam's birth.

His boys, and he loved them dearly, were not just his sons, they were also reminders. Reminders of his short time with Mary. Reminders of the brief happiness he'd found after growing up in foster care and fighting in a war he'd not really understood. Reminders of his later failings as a father; reminders of his inability to give them the childhoods they deserved, reminders that he'd not avenged their mother's death yet. On the other hand, Emily, who he'd found himself loving just as dearly, was simply his daughter, and nothing else. When he looked at her, he saw just her. No memories haunted him through her eyes, no judgement looked back at him.

So yes, while he'd never admit it because it might be misconstrued, it was a relief to have that one child whom loving was painless; who didn't bring up complicated emotions. But how had Missouri known this? Something in her voice told him it was not through her psychic power.

"You're speaking from experience, aren't you?" he asked her haltingly, his voice warm and compassionate. Many of those who thought they knew him based on how he lived his life now, constantly on the move and hunting creatures of the night, would have been surprised to hear him ask such a perceptive soul bearing question. But Missouri knew the man behind the mask and wasn't surprised. John wasn't self-centred or callous or unfriendly, he was simply driven, hellbent on avenging his wife, and he kept people at arm's length because he was worried he'd lose them or get them hurt in some way. It made for a lonely existence.

"When my father died, I was devastated, but my mom ... she was completely lost without him." Missouri began after a moment of consideration. "They'd been together thirty-five years, married for almost twenty-eight of those. They were each other's worlds, and I'm not exaggerating when I say that. Anyway, I'd left home by then, but I went back often to check on her. We'd talk for hours with no incident, and then out of the blue her eyes would turn watery and she'd get all chocked up. When I'd ask, she'd say she was fine, and I'd drop it without much insistence. Of course I feel bad about it now, but well, show me a child who hasn't once acted like their parent is incidental to their lives!" she shrugged with a wry smile.

John smiled with her. He knew what she was saying. Most children, especially teenagers and young adults acted like their parents existed in a periphery world that only collided with theirs when they needed something from the parents. It was an apathy that parents, who in most cases were invested in their children, could not fathom but tried to live with. His sons were living proof; they loved him, and sometimes missed him, but they could live without him. He on the other hand couldn't bear to think of a world without them.

Missouri continued. "So anyway, just before she died, she finally came out and told me what had been bothering her all those years ago. She said that even though I looked nothing like him, there were apparently a number of quirks I shared with my father. I'd do or say something that would remind her of my father, and she'd suddenly feel this stabbing pain inside. She hadn't wanted to tell me because she wasn't sure how I'd handle it. She didn't want me to feel like she was sad I had lived while my father had died. It's good she held on and told me then, because I was older, way past that 'I'm so misunderstood' angst we all go through as we grow, so I got it, I really did. I understood that I was both a comfort and a haunting reminder to her. I understood that it wasn't my fault, that she didn't love me any less. But every time she looked at me, she was reminded of what she'd lost, and it was painful. When you first came to me those years ago, I saw you look at your sons the way my mother looked at me. Seeing that faraway look and that melancholic smile, I knew you were not seeing just them, you were seeing their mother in them and it was bittersweet. So even though I've never been through what you have, I have an inkling of what it's like."

John nodded in the darkness. Bittersweet! It was such an apt word; a word he would have used himself if his vocabulary had been up to scratch. Yes, the relationship between him and his sons would always be bittersweet. It was good to know it didn't make him a bad person, or unworthy of his sons.

They each got lost in their thoughts and it wasn't long before Missouri fell asleep. There was no doubt this time that she was really sleeping. The woman was snoring so obnoxiously that John had initially thought she was just taking the piss, but the loud sounds were too consistent to be faked. He briefly debated about prodding her, but decided he preferred the snores to the eruption that would result if he disturbed her. He changed the radio to a station that was more to his liking and drove.

* * *

He got to Sioux Falls in the morning. Having driven straight through the night and the early morning, he was exhausted. His eyes were so gritty, that blinking hurt, and trying to scan his surroundings as he drove was actually making him dizzy. Still, he would have driven straight to the hospital had Missouri not asked, no demanded that they stop at Bobby's first. She insisted that even though the people she was going to see were a sick teenage girl, two almost delinquent boys and a gruff cantankerous man, that didn't mean she could turn up at the hospital looking frowzy! Apparently, presentation was important to her. "You've got your big bad scruffy hunter look going for you, and that's great. I've got my look too, and this isn't it." she'd finished waving a hand to indicate herself.

John had sighed and shaken his head, but he'd driven to the yard. He carried in Missouri's things and dropped them in Emily's room, figuring neither one would mind sharing. His, he put in the den. He always couch surfed when he stayed over at Bobby's. He'd never had a room in this house, not even when his boys were little. And it was not just at Bobby's. John had no room in any of his few friends' houses. It wasn't an oversight on his friends' part; he actually liked it that way. Mary would have called it pride, and he would have agreed with her, but John knew what it really was. It was doubt! After his ordered life had burnt down, he found that the only person he had complete faith and confidence in was himself. It was for this reason that he didn't fully depend on anyone else.

As Missouri had a long shower and primped herself, John went to the kitchen and poured himself a cup of coffee and made toast. He had just had two sips of the well made coffee when his ears caught the sounds of quiet running steps outside. However was out there, was really stealthy; John had to give them that. If he didn't kill them, he'd pat them on the back.

He retrieved his gun, released it's safety, and trained it at the kitchen door just as it swung open.


End file.
